


Stranger from The Highlands

by Lucretiassister



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Estrangement, F/M, Poldark AU, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-12-22 22:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 41,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11976225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucretiassister/pseuds/Lucretiassister
Summary: (Season 2, post episode 10 fanfiction)Ross, believing Demelza’s heart and trust was lost to him forever, did indeed leave Cornwall and rejoin his regiment to fight against the French.  And Demelza, feeling she had no future at Nampara, fled north with Captain McNeil.  After so long apart, what could bring Ross back to Demelza? What would it take for them to find one another again and what would they discover on their journey back to love?





	1. The Widow McNeil

**Author's Note:**

> _I am a stranger who knows every inch of your skin_ \--Winston Graham, _The Angry Tide_

“Mistress, there’s an horseman comin’ o’er the _mheall_ ,” the servant girl called, anxiously looking out of the parlor window of the proud white house tucked in the lonely valley.

Her mistress, a pretty young widow in her mid twenties, sat in the study deep in thought, working at her accounts ledger. Her tongue was just visible between her teeth and she pulled absently at a red curl that had escaped her plaited and pinned hair. After these last tallies, she had been feeling relieved at the state of the family purse and with the heads of cattle she was to sell tomorrow, they’d be further ahead than she had thought. But the news of an unexpected visitor dashed her good humor and she was at once on guard. 

She rose quickly from the carved mahogany desk and entered the front parlor to look with her own eyes. She watched the rider, still at a distance but approaching at a steady pace.

“Mary, take Jeremy upstairs,” she said calmly, without turning from the window.

The servant nodded gravely and swept the child up in her arms, holding him close. The boy was young enough to think it a great game and squealed with delight. She knew the plan; they had discussed it before. If a stranger were to come uninvited, Mary was to lock the boy and herself upstairs in the back bedroom over the kitchen. If she heard her mistress call out in distress, she was to close Jeremy in the cupboard and climb down from the window and run for help. Their nearest neighbor, Mary’s own father, was a somewhat old and bent man and did not live close, about a mile away. Still he could sound an alarm, perhaps rouse others to ride to their aid, should they need it. 

Or maybe this plan was just an empty exercise to ease their growing fears of living without a master in such a forlorn place and to allow them--falsely, foolishly--to feel they still had control over their dwindling security. 

The widow pulled a pistol from its hooks above the mantel and loaded it with fresh powder and lead, then felt for the dagger she kept tucked at her belt. She stepped outside in the damp March mist to wait. Perhaps he was just a visitor, a friendly one, after all.

But she had good reason to be vigilant. On more than one morning she had spied fresh footprints around the stable. A few weeks earlier their mule, otherwise fit and healthy, dropped dead without explanation. She was sure someone had been sneaking about the place but with what aim, she did not know. And while she could never prove a body had harmed their mule, she had long been wary of losing cattle or sheep to Highland raiders.

Perhaps it was a wonder she had gone as long as she had without menace from the outside world. But her Malcolm, dead just over seven months, had been a well-regarded man, maybe not liked by all but respected, and his family was long established in the glen. And even if she was an outsider, being his widow allowed her some standing, for a time anyway.

_The Widow McNeil._

She hadn’t been particularly devastated when Malcolm McNeil, her common law husband, had died. As his last night wore on and it became clear he was leaving this world, once she had gotten over the initial panic that she’d be alone in the Highlands with no friends nor family save her young son, she realised what she actually felt was, in fact, relief. Relief that it had ended this way and not worse. No bitterness had yet crept into their relationship; their time together had been warm during daylight and pleasurable in the dark. He had been attentive and had flattered her, speaking often of her beauty. And though she did not believe him, he had told her he loved her. He remained jolly and patient with her son and never treated him harshly. 

And she was relieved there had not yet been a child from this union, for that frightened her most. A child that would bind her forever to a man she was not sure she wanted to stay with indefinitely. A child who would demand her full attention and come between her and her Jeremy. A child whose very birth might cost her her own life. What would happen to Jeremy then? Would he be sent back to Cornwall to live with distant relations? Surely his own father, a captain in the army and at war in France, must be dead by now.

She stood alone on her doorstep and watched. A hollow wind, her only company in this vigil, rushed through the glen whipping at her skirts.

She recognized the rider while he was still a fair distance from the house. She knew it in her stomach before it had registered in her head. No, she was not in danger after all but she was not happy to see him nonetheless. She eased the half-cocked hammer of the pistol and lowered it to her side.

The dark rider sat tall in the saddle, his right shoulder pulled back while he reined in his horse guiding him closer to the entrance of the yard. She narrowed her eyes trying to read his mood from such a distance. She could see he was smiling, and when he knew she had seen him, he approached without any hesitation. Once he was nearly in front of her, he stopped and quickly slid down from his steaming horse while she remained planted firmly at the door.

“Demelza!” he said stepping forward, confident but out of breath from his vigorous ride. He kept the reins in one gloved hand but held the other out with uncertainty. For what purpose, she could not tell. To take hers? She remained still and took no steps to meet him. He spied the pistol in her hand and raised a questioning eyebrow, amused and impressed. 

“Ross,” she said simply. She watched his eyes travel down from her face and she realised her other hand was still resting on the dagger. She smoothed her hands over her apron front and after some time, spoke again.

“You be alive,” she said.

“Indeed I am,” he replied triumphantly.

“And you’ve journeyed all this way.” _For what?_ She did not ask.

“It would appear so,” he said in return, still winded but grinning wider. He seemed unbothered by her wry tone or her stiff stance.

“Well then, stable your horse and come inside.” And with that she turned and crossed the threshold back into the house without another word or glance.

*********

Ross Poldark, a former officer in His Majesty's army, had traveled a long way to reach this remote farm and after days of riding, he was glad to be out of the saddle at last. He ducked his head as he entered the stable, an old building with a low, thatched roof. On one side a fat cow munched hay contentedly. At the farthest end stood two tall horses, their heads, like his, close to the ceiling. They were gleaming dark bays with tidy manes, well paired, even their white stars were nearly identical. One was slightly smaller than the other-- a set purposely selected for a man and a woman. Both were mares, steady and sure.

 _Like their mistress_ , he thought.

The closest stall was empty but based on the old harness still hanging from the hook, he suspected a draught animal of some sort had recently occupied the spot. It was here that he led his own horse and began to unsaddle him. Ross also spied two large iron padlocks hanging from the stout stable door. Someone was worried about thieves.

Ross tended his tired horse thoroughly but with haste. He was eager to follow Demelza into the house and speak with her, especially since she was now living alone.

It had been a few days since he had learned Captain McNeil was dead. He was relieved but, if he were honest with himself, also disappointed. He would not tell her this. He had not come this far to treat with McNeil but to kill him.


	2. Mistress of the House

Ross thought it an impressive house. Though smaller than his home of Nampara back in Cornwall, it was bigger than many of the houses he had passed as he had ridden up the valley. It was two stories, lime washed, slate roofed, its many windows in seemingly good repair. When he stepped inside he found it bright and notably well furnished, not at all what he would have expected in such a rugged country.

To his right, in a dining room, he saw a dark table and four graceful ribbon-backed chairs. A walnut sideboard with contrasting inlaid veneers was against the far wall; on it sat several crystal decanters and a large porcelain vase. To his left lay a parlor with a thick Turkey carpet on the floor. More blue and white porcelain was displayed on the mantle above the hearth. An elegant highboy with brass pulls and carved finials stood on thin legs, nearly reaching the low ceiling. A tall clock, also imposing, ticked steadily in the corner. Beyond these fine rooms, at the back of the house were two more that seemed to him to be a study and a kitchen.

Ross had had no idea before this of McNeil’s standing but it seemed to him now that his family must have had some considerable wealth. Acres of good grazing land, sizable herds, a home as fashionably furnished as many he’d seen in London... what had the McNeil family done to secure their good fortune? Perhaps siding with the occupying English enemy years ago?

And what did Demelza think of it all? Demelza always had a curious relationship to household possessions and money. She was born with nothing so she was forever grateful for anything she did have. She liked having money and took pride in a nice home but when these things were lost to her, she didn’t mourn. At least Ross didn’t recall her being overly devastated when they had sold off many of their things to pay debts. Their carpets, her horse, the clock she loved so dearly--stoic and resolute as ever, she had just accepted the situation and moved on. Hadn’t she? She certainly had all these things in her possession again now.

Ross found Demelza in the parlor standing with her back to him at a window that looked northwest over the lambent slopes of heather. The pistol had been returned to its hooks above the mantle. 

_Well, that had gone as well as might be expected,_ he thought. Her reception, while cool was not completely icy nor was it hot with the fury he knew her capable of. Still, he entered the parlor tentatively.

“You look well.” He spoke first. 

She turned and motioned for him take a seat in a handsome stuffed chair by the fire, then sat down on another chair opposite. She looked at him for a moment before speaking, her lips were set, tense but polite.

“Thank you, Ross. And you too? I trust you’re brave?” she asked.

“I heard of Captain McNeil’s death as I passed through Inverness.” He did not offer his condolence.

“Yes, t’was quick and poor Malcolm…” She paused after saying his name, letting it roll around on her tongue, knowing it would make Ross uncomfortable. “He didn’t suffer.” She watched his face but he looked away, avoiding her direct gaze. 

“The sickness, influenza, t’was that hard to fathom. Sometimes the strongest are felled while the younger and weaker are spared.”

Ross’s heart beat quickened and he swallowed hard. This whole time he had been afraid to ask after his son, Jeremy. He saw no signs of a child inhabiting this house--no toys lying about, no small clothing on the line, no muddy footprints on the floor. He heard no shouts or cries from elsewhere. But the house was large; it was conceivable that a child upstairs wouldn’t be heard from this parlor room below. Perhaps he was playing outside behind the house where Ross wouldn't have spied him as he rode up. But would Demelza leave him alone? She had always been rather fretful and watched over him closely when he was an infant. 

Silence settled into the room again before she rose to her feet and moved towards the staircase in the hallway.

“Mary! T’is alright now,” she called. “You can come down again.” 

Ross rose from his chair and let out a great sigh when he saw a small boy following a servant girl down the stairs; he felt his eyes grow wet, then he smiled widely. The boy was handsome, bright eyed, pink cheeked, and seemed healthy, as far as Ross could tell. He was certainly much grown since Ross had seen him last. The day Ross had ridden from Nampara without a word to Demelza to rejoin his regiment seemed so very long ago. 

The child stood on the last step and didn’t move while his mother spoke.

“Mary,” she said, addressing the girl, “this is Captain Poldark, an old acquaintance of Captain McNeil’s. They fought together in America … and then afterwards... they met again,” she added the last words with just a touch of bitterness that only Ross would detect.

“Actually it’s Major now…” Ross corrected her.

“Of course, t’was only a small matter o’ time before you’d get a new title...no doubt you’d be doin’ heroic deeds, riskin’ your neck... and others’,” she said breezily then turned to the girl again. “Mary, please bring us some tea in the parlor. Come, Jeremy.” 

Demelza took the child by the hand and led him into the parlor. Once he was in the room he stood frozen in the doorway staring at Ross. He put one finger in his little mouth then quickly took it out again and stood up straight, as though he had checked himself. 

“This, Jeremy, is your Papa. Shake his hand. He’s come a long way to see you,” Demelza said to him. She took a few paces towards Ross, inviting the boy into the room with a reassuring smile.

“Jeremy!” Ross called to him. In his joy at seeing the boy his voice boomed louder than he had intended, filling the room.

Jeremy still said nothing but peered at Ross with dark, shining eyes. After a moment’s consideration, the boy took a stool that sat next to the hearth and dragged it across the room towards Ross and Demelza. Climbing on it, he drew himself up as tall as he could. He stood there, between his father and his mother, and only then did he hold out his hand to Ross. Ross accepted this formal salute though he longed to sweep the boy up in a great embrace. And while he was hurt that the welcome from his son had been so solemn, he could not help but admire and even feel pride at this young boy’s instinct to protect his mother. Especially from those dark strangers who arrive out of nowhere and who might appear to be overly familiar with her. 

“A pleasure,” Ross said to him, then felt a lump form in his throat.

“Gracious, young man! How tall you be!” Demelza laughed at her son. Ross reluctantly let go of Jeremy’s hand as she lifted him off the stool and took him in her arms. She returned to her chair, the boy on her lap, and again signaled to Ross to sit.

Ross sat on the stuffed chair and searched for words that were escaping him. Jeremy, now over four years old, had practically been a baby still when he’d seen him last. Ross was at odds as to how to start a conversation with him or his mother. So he watched Demelza with the boy and was warmed just to be near him again. 

She tousled his dark hair and bent close to speak softly to him. The boy giggled and wrapped his arms around her neck. The bonds that connected mother to son were unmistakable, almost tangible, or so it seemed to Ross. Demelza’s face had grown soft and for a moment her eyes shone bright. Ross should have known it was Demelza’s love for the boy that was keeping her heart alive.

Nothing more was said between them, the crackle of the fire the only sound filling the room. After a few minutes Jeremy, growing tired of such a strained scene, whispered in Demelza’s ear then ran off just as the girl came in with tea. She gave Ross a quick glance as she set the tray between him and Demelza. Mary wasn’t sure what to make of him but she relied on her mistress’s good judgement and was trying her best to be mannerly. She bowed to them both.

“You must be tired, after such a journey, _Major Poldark_ ”, Demelza said at last. In their last weeks together back in Cornwall she had taken to using that same polite but distant pretense of friendliness with him. It was such a contrast to her natural warmth and genuine expressions that it grated him. She knew this.

He waited until Mary had left the room before he spoke again.

“I’m well enough, I took it in stages so it wasn’t so taxing,” he replied. He was indeed tired and was growing frustrated at the recurring silence between them. He tried again to find a foray into conversation. “Demelza, I thought when McNeil left Cornwall he was set to rejoin his regiment?” he asked finally.

“He was. The Scots Greys. But his father took mortal ill and Malcolm was allowed... a reprieve? Is that what it’s called? Leave to go settle his affairs. He never expected to come into this,” she said with a wave of her hand referring to the house around her, “but his older brother Roderick had died that year too. So Malcolm took possession…” 

Again to Ross’s discomfort, she paused so he had no choice but to think of all that had come into McNeil’s possession. He swallowed but his face could not disguise his chagrin.

“...of the land…,” she continued, “and he brought us with him up here to Achindall to see it all settled. He was again set to rejoin his regiment in September but then ...he died.”

“How do you manage? The land, I mean…” Ross asked.

“Well, we do have two lads from down the glen we take on to help with the herds, and when it’s time to mow or reap we’ll take on more help. But it seems me an’ Mary, and occasionally her father, can manage just fine,” she said proudly, matter of factly, without any defensiveness in her voice.

Ross didn't doubt she could get the work done, he knew her too well. But he wondered if she had been scared living by herself in a lonely, new country. Demelza could put on a brave face but he recalled times in the past when she had let her guard down and flown into his arms, trembling with fear. But then her worries had always been about others, not her own safety, and in fact, on more than one occasion she risked her own neck to save others from harm. The night she stood between Dwight Enys and Mark Daniel to prevent them coming to blows. The night she climbed from her bedroom window and ran through the dark to warn Ross that soldiers were waiting for him at the house. No, even alone she’d have been courageous but maybe blind to the dangers around her.

While he pondered Demelza’s safety, something in the back of his mind plagued him. With the instinct of a soldier, he moved to the mantel and took the pistol off the wall. He cocked its hammer and checked it in his hand. He was relieved to see with his own eyes that she had unloaded it before she returned it to its hooks. 

“And so it’s the three of you alone here then? Is that...safe?” he asked her putting the pistol back.

“We are well, Ross. Thanks for inquirin’!” At that she slammed down the cup she had been holding and left to go join the others in the kitchen. 

*********

Demelza swept into the kitchen and began working alongside Mary, who had been peeling a mound of potatoes for supper. The girl looked cautiously out of the corner of her eye at Demelza, then went back to work. She didn’t know what to make of her mistress’s sudden mood but had no doubt that it was brought on by their guest. 

“I’ll see to gettin’ us some milk. Come, Master Jeremy,” Mary said. She thought it best to let Demelza be and started to lead the boy towards the door.

“No, please stay. I find the company suits me.” Demelza said. Mary nodded and returned to the potatoes. Jeremy busied himself with a small piece of dough that he was shaping into some sort of four legged animal. No one said a word about the man sitting alone in the other room.

Silently Demelza chided herself for becoming agitated by Ross so quickly. She should not have been surprised by his arrogance. Of course he hadn’t changed; he still always needed to be the hero, quick to enter any battle to defend the weak but still blind to the troubles of those closest to him.

She absently punched down the rising bread dough, then set the bowl aside again. She knew she didn’t need his protection. _How dare Ross come into her home and worry about her safety now?_ It had been nearly two years since he left her and Jeremy to rejoin his regiment. He had left her then without a care for her well being and she’d had no word from him since. 

Nearly two years but it was a lifetime ago. As a rule, Demelza didn't allow herself to think of Ross or Cornwall and the life she had left behind. No good could come of grieving over what had been lost. Maybe someday she’d be able to recall gratefully all that she’d once had, even if it had been hers only for a short while. But her heart was not yet ready to be generous, so it was best to keep all thoughts of the past out of her mind. She had grown quite good at doing so and kept herself busy dawn to dusk. It was, in fact, a tactic she’d learned from Ross.

And now? How could she continue to put him out of her mind when he was sitting in her parlor? She did not know but she would not sit and fret. She’d feed this man his supper and put him up for the night. And tomorrow she’d go about her business as usual and maybe he’d just leave on his own accord when he saw he had no place in her life now. She doubted this but could not see any other way this would end.


	3. An Unwelcome Guest

Ross awoke the next morning in a cold, bare bedroom at the end of the upstairs hallway. There was scarcely any furniture, save the old bed; no curtains hung at the window, baskets of potatoes lined two of the rough white-washed walls. He guessed Demelza did not entertain many overnight visitors here and the room was likely used as a storeroom. 

A familiar pain throbbed in his ankle and he pulled his woolen stocking off to check for swelling. Nothing new, just a recognizable ache in his aging bones, growing more persistent with each year. 

He had injured this same ankle years before when first a soldier, an American musket ball was to thank then. But he had been young so it mended quickly enough and afterwards only plagued him on days of particular cold or damp. This last time, five months ago, the wound had been slower to heal. He was most assuredly older now; this was but one more reminder.

When Ross rejoined his regiment he was not sent to battle in France but to Flanders. Once a successful campaign, things were unraveling in this struggle against the French. Ross and other enthusiastic English gentlemen like him were brought in as reinforcements, to shore up the Coalition Line and retain control of the frontier. 

Ross was surprised to see the lax discipline and questionable morals of the soldiers once he arrived. Brawling, gambling, drinking, and whoring were daily activities. Had he too really been that arrogant and brash when he was last at war?

Demelza was right --it hadn’t taken him long before he had achieved the rank of major. He had experience in battle, experience leading men, and an appreciable self-discipline that intimidated the younger soldiers and impressed the higher ranks. His father may have purchased him a place in His Majesty’s army years ago but on this occasion, Ross earned his promotion on his own merits. 

Ross had not, however, completely lost his reckless impulses and still went willingly into perilous situations time and again. His unit did not experience any prolonged battles or sieges but Ross threw himself into the periodic skirmishes and often volunteered for dangerous scouting missions. Later he would reflect that he did so because, having destroyed his marriage, he felt he had nothing more of value to lose.

“ _What it is to be married to such a great man_ ,” Demelza had sarcastically said to him before he rejoined. She cared not for feats of bravery and found no valor in war. She saw war for what it was--deceitful men playing foolish games. 

And it had not been in a heroic battle that Ross had received the injury that ultimately led to his discharge but a common, everyday accident. While returning from a meeting with his colonel at a small outpost near their encampment, he had been thrown from his horse. It was inconceivable to Ross, a man who had lived in the saddle for most of his life and never once had such a mishap. But his mare had lost her footing and Ross found himself with an arm broken and his old ankle injury roused.

And as he lay recovering from his injuries and it became clear to him that he would not, in fact, be dying soon in service of his country, Ross made up his mind. He would find Demelza and bring her home.

 

*********  
Now Ross rose quickly to dress in Demelza’s empty guest room, anxious to try to speak with her again.

“Where is your Mistress? Mary, is it?” he asked the girl gently as he came upon her in the kitchen. He could see she was still a bit uneasy about having a strange guest in the house. 

“Aye, sir. Mistress McNeil rode out on business this mornin’, said she’d be back soon, and I should see to yer breakfast.” She spoke with a soft Highland twang and it took Ross a moment to fully comprehend her words. He smiled politely again and then went to sit at the table in the empty dining room. Used to field rations and rough conditions for almost two years, he shifted uncomfortably in the stiff backed chair. It had been a while since he had been waited on in such a proper home but suspected he would not be welcomed in the kitchen. 

_Mistress McNeil._ Ross had bristled at the words. But what had he expected? He should be happy for her, that she was doing well on her own, that her business affairs prospered. Would it really have been better if she’d fallen at his feet, broken and trembling, waiting for him to save her? That would never be Demelza. And to love her meant to know this.

Mary brought him a bowl of hot porridge with a plate of bread and cheese, and poured him some tea. She curtsied quickly then scurried from the room. At once Ross could tell it was Demelza’s baking. Her loaves were perfect rounds, crusty, but light on the inside. He recognized the flavor--a slight nuttiness mixed with the tangy sour of yeast. He hadn’t had anything so pleasing since he left Cornwall, not even when he was quartered on the Continent. 

As Mary exited the room, Ross looked at the red curls that were sneaking out of the back of her white cap and noted that she and her mistress bore a striking resemblance. Mary had the same flaming red hair as Demelza, was about the same height and build, although, he observed, perhaps the younger girl’s face was a bit rounder. Still, he could see the two being mistaken for sisters. With her looks, Demelza would fit in well here. It would only be when she spoke that traces of her native rich Cornish tones might betray her as an outsider. 

In their brief interactions, Ross could see that Mary was most fond of her mistress but he wasn’t surprised. Demelza had always been kind, fair, and could never resist working alongside those who worked for her. Neither could he. It was a trait they shared and something that made them respected back in Cornwall, not by the gentry but among the miners and villagers. Ross could also see that this servant girl was quite attached to Jeremy and gave him tender care. So together these two women managed to give his son a safe and loving home. He knew he should be grateful for that but instead felt resentful that he was not part of this equation.

Ross finished his lonely meal and went out to search for Jeremy. He found him behind the house crouched next to a small hole in the ground. A tiny, furry creature sat still a few feet away, staring the boy down. 

“Jeremy!” Ross called out in a boisterous greeting but the boy put his fingers to his lips to quiet him.

“He mebbe is hurt. I’m standing guard,” he said quietly without looking at Ross.

“What is it, my boy?” Ross asked softly.

“A _coineanach._ Mustn’t touch the wee ones. Mama said,” Jeremy’s dark eyes were trained on the terrified animal.

Ross saw now that its ears were longish, somewhat resembling a rabbit, its rapid heart beat could be seen under soft, tawny-brown fur. Jeremy seemed to be struggling to control his urge to grab up the little fellow in his hands.

“Good boy. Standing guard? From what?” Ross whispered loudly.

“Adders. Or hawks,” Jeremy said finally looking up at him.

“Or feet?” Ross laughed. 

“He’ll go home when he’s no longer afeared. Why shouldn’t he go home?” the boy said.

_Indeed, why not?_  
Jeremy then turned his head to listen in the distance and smiled.

“Mama!” he cried, and abandoning the bunny, ran around to the front of the house to meet Demelza’s horse as she cantered into the yard. 

Ross followed, warmed to see the boy skip with joy at his mother’s return. Ross reached Demelza before she dismounted and offered her his hand. She reluctantly took it and as she hopped down, he heard the distinct jingle of coin from the sack at her belt.

 

*********  
Demelza walked straight to the study once she entered the house, her cheeks flushed and her mind full of figures. Five head of cattle sold at not a penny below her asking price; she was proud of her morning’s work. She scarcely noticed Ross following her into the room.

”Your business went well, I take it?" he asked tentatively.

“Indeed it did, but t’was what I expected. I was firm and the dealin’ was fair. No surprises there,” she said with a smile. She walked to the desk and tossed the pouch in the top drawer, then untied her cloak. “Mary fed you?” she asked him breezily.

“Yes, I was rather well taken care of,“ he said. She moved to leave the room but he spoke first.

“Demelza, we need to talk.”

“Yes?” she said, not fully minding Ross’s words.

“To resolve this…” he said. 

“Resolve…?” she said slowly, then paused again. 

“Yes,” he said simply.

She turned to him. The smile was gone and a heavy silence quickly filled the room. At once her eyes snapped with fury. She was now ready to spar. 

“Do you seriously believe... that after a mere eighteen hours we can resolve eighteen months of discord--no, t’was more than eighteen months because truly Ross, when did our despair begin?” 

Yes, what broke their marriage began well before Ross slept with his cousin’s widow in an attempt to stop her from marrying his worst enemy. Was it when cousin Francis died and Ross began his regular visits to Trenwith to attend to Elizabeth’s needs while she, unnoticed, had scraped to keep them fed and clothed in their growing poverty? Maybe it had been earlier. When Ross told Demelza he wanted no more children while she knew she was already carrying Jeremy? Or did the distance begin even earlier still, when they lost their first child, Julia? 

But she quickly caught herself and said no more; she’d vowed long ago she’d never let Ross’s impenitent infidelity stir her passions again. When she left Cornwall with Captain McNeil she had closed that chapter on her heart and had been mistress of her own feelings for nearly two years. Ross Poldark would have no claim on them.

He could turn around and ride straight back to Cornwall for all she cared; he’d get no such rise out of her again. She left her cloak lying on the floor where it fell and pushed past him to exit the room.

 

*********  
After this last failed conversation with Demelza, Ross had in fact ridden off but not far. He took to his horse to clear his head and to strategize what to do next. He rode north through the glen, then after about an three quarters of an hour, he circled back. Demelza had appeared glad to see him leave; perhaps she did not expect him to return. He was in no hurry to face her again but did not want to risk running into neighbors. How to begin to introduce himself or explain his purpose on this aimless ride?

Ross rode slowly over the rolling countryside back towards the house. _Demelza’s house._ How different this ride was for him today than the day before. He had been in great haste then, eager to see her and Jeremy alive and well, satisfied that there’d be no obstacle in the form of McNeil to come between them again. He saw now how shortsighted he had been. He hadn’t considered that she’d have made her own life for herself and hadn’t fully appreciated the depth of the bitterness she still harbored towards him. 

_So now what?_

He could wait around in the Highlands until she slowly warmed to him. Could he be certain she ever would? Or should he ride away in defeat back to Cornwall and leave her, and his son, to their new lives where they seemed to manage just fine without him?

He had just crested the small rise and was a few hundred yards from the house when he looked up to a shocking sight. The soldier in him came alive at once; all nerves quickened and hot blood coursed through his veins as he spurred his horse into a furious gallop.

There in the yard, just feet from her front door, Demelza bent over the lifeless body of a stranger, her dagger stuck in his belly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From my research, albeit cursory, it seems His Majesty's 62nd Regiment of Foot, which we see Ross about to rejoin in episode 10 of season 2 would have been sent to the West Indies, not France. I needed Ross closer to home so I plopped him where most of the Continental action was in 1794-5, namely Flanders. If any military historian readers want to correct me, I'm open to feedback. As a Quaker art historian military history is not my strong suit.


	4. In Need of a Friend

Blood, thick and dark, was quickly pooling around the lifeless body and already covered Demelza’s hands and the front of her caraco. She seemed stunned and remained motionless, kneeling in the dirt.

“Demelza! Are you hurt?” Ross called to her. He lept from his horse and flew to her side.

“No, just shaken…” she managed to gasp, her voice low and halting. Ross scanned the yard frantically.

“Where is Jeremy?” he asked in panic.

“He rode out with Mary to the north pasture to look o’er his lambs. I be alone…” She sat down on her bottom in the dust and let out a great breath. She looked up dazed at Ross, as he crouched beside her, holding her arms firm in his gloved hands. She knew tears were forming in her eyes but she could not stop them even if she had wanted to. 

“What happened? Demelza, what did you do?!” he cried. He was still reacting like a soldier assessing a battlefield and did not think to gentle his tone with her. She did not protest and answered obediently.

“He...he was rippin’ at my blouse and grabbin’ me all o’er. He was tryin’ to…” A sob caught in her throat and she couldn’t go on. 

“He was going to rape you?” Ross asked her slowly, gravely looking into her eyes. His already firm grip on her arms tightened. 

“I b’lieve so…” she stammered.

”And so you stabbed him. Is that your knife?” Determined to gather facts, he tried his best to speak in measured tones but she was incapable of saying more and only nodded.

Her tears came steadily now; they splashed on her hands and this seemed to wake her from her stupor. She cried out in horror when she looked down to see them in this wet, bloodied state.

Ross saw the ripped lace border at her neckline and the angry red mark of a scratch forming on her delicate white skin. For a moment he thought he would lose control; he felt sick and his knees grew weak. He sat down beside her and continued to hold her arms taut while she leaned clumsily into him, burying deep, silent sobs into his shoulder. When he reached to wrap his arm around her, she flinched and shrunk away. 

“No, don’t touch me,” she said. “You’ll be gettin’ his blood on you.”

“Come,” he said and led her by the elbow to the back of the house. She stood motionless in the yard while he began to furiously work the pump. Then he washed her hands, one at a time, under the cold running water until they were clean. 

It had been over ten years since Ross had first washed Demelza under a pump just like this. The first day he had brought her home to Nampara to be his servant he had wanted to set firm standards of cleanliness so he had scrubbed not just her hands but her hair and her whole undeveloped, sexless body. She was small and bony then, her back covered in lice and deep welts from her father’s lash; she was alone in a cruel world and needed a friend.

 _Do all men run in cycles?_ he asked himself. He knew he had been thoughtlessly rough back then and now tried to be gentle with her in her bewildered state. He unlaced her jacket and gingerly removed it from her body. No blood had yet soaked through to the garments below.

Taking her by the hand, this time he led her inside the house and sat her by the fire. He recalled the decanters he had spied in the dining room and went to examine their contents. One was ruby red and only about a quarter full; this he guessed was port, Demelza’s favorite. The other two, both rich amber brown, were still filled almost to the top. He unstopped one and smelled it. Whiskey, probably McNeil’s and not touched since his death. The last contained what he had been searching for. He found two glasses and brought them and the bottle of brandy back to Demelza in the parlor.

Demelza absently took the glass from him and drank from it, oblivious to its contents.

“His name was Robert Macpherson,” she said after a moment. 

“You knew him, Demelza?” he asked, alarmed.

“Mind, not well but he and his brothers do be known ‘round here. Not up to much good, I’m told by Mary’s father. And Robert, Rob he was called, wanted to do some farm work for us after Malcolm died but I turned him away. Something I didn’t like in his eyes. That was near on seven month ago. I saw him around from time to time but t’was all the dealin’s I had with him.”

“Why did he come today of all days, I wonder?”

She swallowed another drink from the glass. Knowing Ross wouldn't like what she was about to say, reluctantly she went on. 

“T’was on account of your comin’, Ross. He told me that much,” she began. “He said he heard I was entertainin’ strange gentlemen and p’rhaps I should like to entertain him as well. I told him to leave at once and that’s when he got cross and mean.” 

This man had confirmed she was being watched for sometime now; it gave her no satisfaction to know she had been right. She paused, then decided to tell Ross the rest. It was right he should know all.

“He pulled at my hair, he ripped my blouse. I tried fightin’ ‘em off... you know I’m strong, Ross,” she added, finally daring to look up into his face. Ross nodded sadly but could find nothing else to say to her in that moment. She continued.

“But he pinned my arm behind me and I couldn’t get my legs ‘round to kick him so I reached for the dagger. I thought he’d be just be scared off but…”

It was too much for him.

“Good god! Could you not have waited until I returned?” he asked sharply. He was consumed with his own pain, was angry at himself, and as usual, not adequately expressing his concern for her.

“Wait for you? You seriously ask me that?!” She turned to face him now, her brows raised in angry disbelief.

“I seriously ask you that,” Ross answered back. He saw her eyes widen and she held a deep breath in her chest. He steadied himself for the furious retort he expected to follow from her. He looked her in the eye but before she could speak, he sat down hard in the chair, dispirited and contrite. 

“Demelza, I am sorry,” be began. “Of course I did not mean that you should have allowed him to do you harm, especially in such a way...”

But what? He was frustrated to again be denied a chance to act on his murderous rage? _Is that not what you came here for? To commit some reckless and murderous act?_ he thought to himself. _Well, Poldark, that seems to be one more thing she can manage to do without you._

Ross sensed she was still enraged by his outburst but had been caught off guard by the swiftness of his apology. He changed the subject quickly.

“How far away are Jeremy and Mary now?” Ross asked looking out the window to see if anyone was around. The horizon remained empty but a yet unseen rider could crest the hill any moment.

“T’is ‘bout a ten minute ride. They took my horse, and she’s swift of foot. But Jeremy do like to stop every few yards to check out some nest or ‘nother.” 

_Like his mother._ Ross thought, then snapped back into focus.

“We must bury the man and soon. I don’t know your land. Where is a good spot, where no one will look askance if the earth is turned up?”

“We buried a mule three week ago. Just past the cattle byre on the other side of that rise,” she said pointing it out to Ross through the window. “The ground was turned up then, I don’t suppose t’would be noticed if it was turned up again.”

“Find me a spade,” he said, taking his coat off. “I’ll need to work quickly.”

“We’ve more than one in the shed,” she said. “Don’t give me that look, Ross. I’m goin’ to help you. T’will be quicker that way, and you know it.”

She was right but before he could agree with her, she turned swiftly and left him standing alone. When she returned she was carrying a pile of men’s clothes--an old shirt, some dark trousers. 

“Put these on so you don’t soil your own things,” she instructed. She seemed to have regained her composure and was eager to spring into action. 

“Demelza, I’m not happy about wearing _his_ clothes,” he grumbled.

“Well, tell me Ross, would you rather wear mine?” she answered.


	5. Digging Up Bones

Ross reluctantly changed out of his own clothes and put on McNeil’s. Being in another man’s clothes always fretted him and he hoped this wouldn't take long. The trousers did not suit him--they were too big in the seat but stretched uncomfortably tight across his thighs. Ross could not recall how tall or broad McNeil had been and tried not to think more on the man’s body; he didn’t want to contemplate it touching his wife. 

He found Demelza waiting for him downstairs in an old dress. This rougher frock reminded Ross of the attire she had regularly worn at Nampara. Their last year together had been one of hard poverty and she had taken to making over her old clothes, and sometimes even his, to make suitable work clothes for herself. He regretted she had left before they had a chance to replenish her wardrobe but Ross always found her becoming whatever she wore. Even now.

They got to work at once. Together they rolled Macpherson onto an old sheet then carefully wrapped it around him. The blood that had pooled while he had lain in the yard had by now mixed with mud, becoming a dark, shining slurry. 

Demelza had butchered enough animals in her lifetime and was untroubled at the sight of blood. But she was distressed by the man’s pale empty eyes rolling up behind his lids and was relieved when Ross covered the face.

They first tried dragging him but after a few feet they found his heavy body was tearing up the sod in the yard so they hefted him up. Ross bore most of the man’s weight while Demelza carried his feet. It was hard work getting him up the field but they both were strong and managed to do it quickly. 

Demelza thought she could pinpoint where the mule had been buried so they might avoid disturbing that corpse while disposing of this new one. But she had miscalculated and after a few spadefuls of earth had been removed, they were hit with the overpowering reek of decay. 

“Judas!” Demelza gasped at once.

Ross staggered backward, his eyes watered. Demelza held her stomach trying hard not to retch, then opened her mouth to avoid breathing from her nose. Without a word Ross came to her side and tied his handkerchief around her face. She nodded appreciatively then solemnly resumed digging a few feet away.

The more they unearthed the more foul the air grew; as though the stench of Gehenna was reminding them of their guilt and sin. They tried to make haste in their work but frequently had to stop and turn away to regain their bearing. They never actually struck the bones of the dead mule but it was evident its rot had seeped and spread far in the earth.

Ross surveyed the scene-- Demelza masked in his kerchief, he wearing his dead rival’s clothes, another dead man wrapped in a blood-soaked shroud waiting to be buried while they first dredged up a stinking dead mule. It was too absurd. Ross could not help himself; he leaned on his shovel and let out a laugh.

Demelza looked up at him and put her hand to her forehead. She smiled behind her kerchief and shook her head. She did not see his response as perverse; she understood. 

The two continued their shared mission. When they were convinced the hole was sufficiently deep they dragged Macpherson over and folded him in. Demelza thought it wasn’t right that they should leave him in such an ungraceful position. Ross was impatient to finish the accursed task and cared little if this contemptible man was forever crumpled and bent in his grave. But in the end he climbed down and set the body straight at Demelza’s behest. They hurriedly covered the body with earth and began to fill the hole.

Ross and Demelza had always labored well together and this was no exception. They did not need to exchange words but knew intuitively what the other was about to do, where assistance might be needed. Neither ever wavered nor complained. They could just as easily have been digging the garden at Nampara as burying a dead man in the Highlands.

 _So this is how we are to be reunited,_ Ross thought. 

 

*********  
Ross had cleaned and returned the spades to the shed and was standing in the doorway of the house uncertain of what to do next when Demelza came up to him silently. She had already washed up and changed her dress.

“Best give me these clo’es, Ross. I’ll see they’re disposed,” she said to him.

“Tell me...who in this country knows your real name...Poldark?” he asked her.

She looked at him sharply and twisted the corners of her mouth making it plain that she did not consider that to be her name, and hadn’t for some time.

“No one,” she answered. “When we arrived, Malcolm simply referred to me as his wife so I came to be called Mistress McNeil straightaway. No one hereabouts knows my past, or who my family is, or whence I come. And he used to call me _Jolie_ so most folks thought that was my Christian name. That’s French, it means pretty.”

“I know,” he said irritatedly.

“Do you?” she said. 

He took that barb as it was meant. McNeil had taken the time to flatter her, to call her pet names, to make her feel appreciated while he had not. He nodded and looked at his boots; despite his efforts to clean them, some stinking mud still clung to them.

“You should bathe,” she said cooly and turned to leave him alone. “The tub’s in the kitchen. If you be needin’ anythin’ ring the bell...Mary will be back soon and can attend you.”

Demelza closed herself in her study and collapsed at her desk, head in hands. But after only a moment, she was back on her feet. She wouldn't sit, there was much yet to be done. She gathered up an armload of dry kindling and swiftly left the house. 

First she led the pigs out of the barn to the front yard. She left them to their work then returned to the back where she built a small fire in the dirt.

Once it was a lusty blaze, she began to drop their clothes in, garment by garment. She watched the greedy flames devour her soiled skirts, then lap at her blood-soaked caraco. It ripped through the fine muslin of the shirt Ross had just worn, the billowing white sleeves curling in the smoldering pile of char and ash. 

If Ross had never shown up again none of this would have happened. If Robert Macpherson hadn't spied Ross visiting her and gotten his own ideas... No, she knew since Malcolm died it was just a matter of time before her safety was compromised and someone would arrive to menace her. That was why she’d fashioned the plan with Mary, why she carried the dagger at her belt. It was too rugged a country, too desperate times for a young widow to remain safely alone. 

She poked at the flames and added the trousers. The smoke billowed up in grey curls and caught on the wind blowing westward. 

_Well, goodbye, Malcolm,_ she thought to herself. She was stirring the last embers when she heard familiar hooves approaching.

 

*********  
“Mistress! The pigs are out! They’re well-nigh the dooryard!” Mary called in alarm. She was furiously pushing on their rumps to drive them away from the house but her efforts were in vain. They continued nosing up the earth and grass under them, snorting and squealing in delight. Demelza came around to the front unhurried and watched the scene.

“So they are Mary. They must have found somethin’ they liked. Let them be, they are doin’ no harm.”


	6. A Way Forward

Ross was on edge once the rest of the household returned. Alone in the parlor, pacing seemed to be the only outlet for his agitation. Demelza assumed a breezy, cheerful face while she settled into her regular evening chores alongside Mary, but whenever Ross caught sight of her he detected the anguish in her eyes. He wondered if the other two would notice. 

It was only after Mary had cleared the dinner dishes and Jeremy ran off to join her that Ross dared to speak freely to Demelza again. 

“You say he has brothers?” Ross asked suddenly. Demelza rose to stand by the door and once she was convinced Mary was out of earshot, she answered.

“Yes, two I b’lieve.”

“Then he’ll likely be missed soon, they’ll be looking for him. Is it possible he told them where he was headed?”

“P’rhaps. Do you think he’d boast his intentions or keep them quiet?”

“Depends on the man…” Ross grumbled, feeling the rage boil in his belly again. He knew exactly the kind of man Macpherson had been. 

_How could he have dared to touch her?_

Ross hadn’t been there to protect Demelza when she needed help but now he must act. He swallowed his fury and looked up at her. 

“Demelza, you’re sure to be in further danger. You mustn’t stay here any longer. We must away. All of us.”

“Oh Ross,” she said softly and sat down in the chair next him. The exhaustion that followed the despair and fear, crept into her voice and her front of cool control came down again. She saw she had no choice but to look to him for help. “How are we to go?” she whispered.

“Though the valley on horse for a start. We’ll head south and wish for the best.”

“Could we not go along the coast? Would it not be faster by boat?” she asked. 

When she had first come north with McNeil most of their long journey had been by sea. It had been her first time overnight on a boat and Malcolm was most attentive to her--trying his best to gently ease first her fears and then her discomfort when they encountered stormy waters. She had been treated well by the crew too. She had learned to her surprise that being McNeil’s woman meant something. 

She had also learned something of Malcolm as a man on that journey. She thought he had been merely interested in her as a woman but she saw that he indeed cared for her. He was tender and kind and had Demelza never known Ross, and had the shadow of that love not lingered, she might have learned to love Malcolm in return. Maybe in time, had he lived, Malcolm could have helped her heal, forget her hurts or at least forgive. But he hadn’t, so all she could do was bury her feelings deep and try to order her thoughts as best she could. 

As wearisome as that sea voyage with Malcolm had been, she much preferred that to the jolting coaches they took inland once they reached Scotland. She shuddered at the idea of traveling that way again.

“It may be difficult to find boats for passenger transport now, they’ve all been requisitioned for the war. For a single man, maybe, but not for a family. Besides, boats, of all sizes, are close quarters. More opportunities to identify ourselves, to be scrutinized, to be questioned. No, if we go by land we might be able to stay...well...to ourselves.” 

He read the new worry growing on her face but misunderstood her hesitations. “You’ll have to pack light, take only what you can carry, only what is essential.” He didn’t hear that his tone was again patronising.

She looked at him and whatever faith she had had in him the moment before, evaporated. She could not disguise the anger now rising inside her. Good god, she thought she knew him...did he really not know her? Did he think she was mourning for the possessions she’d be leaving behind? Of course this house might be commodious and well furnished but what she valued, what she always valued most, was her child and her own dignity, and she was even willing to part with the latter for the safety of her son. Did Ross really think she was now such a spoiled mistress of the manor that she couldn't bear parting with her china to save her neck from a noose? When she first met Ross, so many years ago, she had had nothing, even the shirt on her back wasn't her own and yet she never asked for anything and always made do with what they had. How could he have not known this about her? The disappointment, the _insult_ , ran deep.

“Yes, Ross,” she said, curtly, looking him square in the face. If he caught the sarcasm that dripped from her words, she could not tell.

*********  
Ross awoke that night from uneasy sleep to the sound of soft footsteps in the rooms below. He rose quickly and crept, partially dressed, down the staircase without a candle. He found Demelza standing in the parlor staring into the black beyond the window pane. The new Lenten moon had risen high now and bathed the room with pale grey light.

“Demelza,” he said softly, trying not to alarm her. _I’m the only one who knows her by that name now,_ he thought to himself.

She turned to him, her eyes lamps. She was still dressed but had let her hair down so the red curls cascaded down her back and framed her pale face. 

“I heard footsteps...” he said, still quiet. He didn't want to wake the house or disturb whatever peace she had been seeking there alone. 

“T’was my pacin’,” she said looking down at the twisted handkerchief in her hands. “I’m sorry if you were woke, Ross. I seem to be no small matter distraught.” There was a sincerity in her tone--raw, genuine, stripped of all pretense. She was different than the woman who had faced him down earlier.

He moved towards her and lit another candle. He longed to take her in his arms and felt at that moment she might not offer resistance, but did not want to risk adding to her distress. Instead he poured them each a brandy.

“Demelza, you’ve killed a man. I have long known how that feels…you’ll recall I was a soldier before I met you,” he said offering her the glass. 

“‘Course, Ross. Why did you never talk about it before?” she asked.

“War takes a man to places no one can follow, not even his wife.”

“This must be different, Ross. T’isn’t war an’ you seem to be right in it with me.” 

Demelza and Ross sat, both together and alone, with only the steady ticking of the clock breaking the grey silence. Occasionally they would drink from their glasses, though the brandy offered no real relief. They knew there was much that lay ahead of them and it would do no good to speak of it at such a late hour.

*********

The next morning Demelza called Mary into the study. They were alone in the house; Ross had taken Jeremy out to the stables to look at the horses. He did not tell the boy but he was assessing which ones were most fit for their journey the next day. 

“Mary, I must speak with thee,” Demelza said, then paused. She did not relish putting the plan into words and prayed the girl wouldn’t ask too many questions. “I’m going away...for a time, Jeremy an’ I. There’s...old relations I must be visitin’ so we’ll be leavin’ tomorrow.” 

There, she’d said it. It wasn’t exactly a lie; she hoped she was convincing and Mary wouldn't detect something was amiss.

“T’morrow? Shall I ‘elp ‘ee pack, ma’am?”

“Thank you, Mary.” How to tell her why they’d be traveling so light, how to explain the haste? “Mary, you should go stay with your father while we’re away from here. T’isnt safe for a girl alone.” She walked to her desk and opened the drawer. She reached in for a small sack of coins and put it in the girl’s hand. “Your wages, dear.” Demelza tried to keep her face calm but she was sad to say goodbye to such a loyal servant and steadfast companion. 

“But Mistress, you’ve already paid my wages to my father.”

“I know. And these are for you.” 

“You’ve done so much for me,” the girl stammered. “Teachin’ me my letters an’ my figures...”

_As someone once did for me,_ Demelza thought.

Demelza closed Mary’s fingers around the sack and held her hand for a moment longer before speaking again. “Mary, I’ve a letter here for you. You’ll see there’s date on it some time hence. I’d like you to unseal it only then. In the case I’m delayed, t’is just further instructions.” 

Mary saw the solemnity in Demelza’s voice and blinked back tears.

“For thine eyes only, Mary, “ Demelza added. 

“‘Course, ma’am. Father can’t read,” she answered.

“One more thing, Mary. Please don’t speak of Major Poldark bein’ here. Not even to your father. Folks won’t understand an’ it might lead to unkindly gossip.” 

This last request was probably pointless. Robert Macpherson had known of Ross’s visit, doubtless all the valley had heard as well. What would they say if they knew she had ridden off with Ross?


	7. An Uncertain Ride

They left at first light riding Demelza’s horses. As expected, it was a rough, slow, and anxious ride. Demelza had, in fact, packed light. A change of clothes and night things for her and Jeremy were the only personal possessions she took. Most of what they carried in their packs was food to last them a few days. Ross trusted they’d want for little, he knew how Demelza’s bread could keep a man satisfied. 

Jeremy found the experience of riding with Ross exhilarating and stayed amused. Ross, grateful for the contact, held his arm tight around his young son who leaned contentedly against his chest. Ross was reminded of a time, first when she was his servant and still later when they were newly married, that he and Demelza would ride together on one horse. _Was that so very long ago?_ he thought.

As they rode on, Ross ran through all the events of the past few days, making sure they had not overlooked any details. He was relieved Macpherson had come to see Demelza on foot so they needn’t worry about his horse. They would have had no choice but to take it instead of one of the bays and could only hope Mary wouldn't ask where it came from as they saddled up. It was hard enough explaining to Mary why they had to leave Ross’s horse behind. And surely riding hour after hour on Macpherson’s horse would have been a grim reminder of the loathsome man. 

And as they traveled on, Demelza’s mind kept returning to the household tasks she had left undone. The basket of stockings to be darned that still sat by the hearth, the southern garden beds that would need clearing for spring planting, the last of the root vegetables in the shed to be sorted before the warmer weather settled upon them. She trusted the animals, at least the cow and Ross’s horse would be well taken care of. Then every few moments she’d catch herself; she knew it mattered not since she would never come back. 

The first night they sheltered in a shed that seemed to be the only remaining outbuilding of a long-vanished farm. It wasn’t pleasant but they unrolled their blankets and rugs and laid to rest on the moldy old straw without complaint. Ross and Demelza said nothing to one another; each were grateful they hadn't had to sleep in the open and were relieved they made it a day’s ride from Achindall without encountering another soul along the way.

“Perhaps I should wear my army uniform when we go. I wore it for most of ride up here,” Ross had posed to Demelza the night before they left. “It might give us some extra...protection if I’m seen as a soldier.”

“Nay Ross. Many men and even boys here may have joined up an’ gone to war but those who stay behind well, they still have no love of a red coat, I can assure you.“

He had seen her point and if their aim was to get away as inconspicuously as possible, wearing a blazing red uniform would be no doubt unwise. 

Indeed they managed to travel some distance without coming across anyone else. They swung a wide berth around Fort Augustus then rode south along the River Garry. Even in their agitated state, they found it hard not to be struck by the beauty of the valley. To one side rose dark forests, on the other lay patches of subdued purples, mossy greens, and rich browns. The embracing peaks, majestic and sublime in their towering presence, seemed to hide them yet always be watching.

The second night they were fortunate to find a partially burnt house that had been abandoned for some time. Half of the structure still had most of its roof and although it was filled with long-established cobwebs and the unmistakable scurrying of rodent feet, it was dry enough inside for them to rest comfortably. They debated whether to build a fire in the hearth that remained in the one covered room. The smoke might attract attention and the chimney might have been compromised in the fire that had destroyed the other half of the house, so it was a risk. In the end they decided to chance it to get some much needed warmth after another long day of riding in the brisk mist. They were thankful to be enjoying a reprieve from the usual valley rains but still felt the damp chill seep into their bones. Demelza also hoped a fire might keep the resident vermin at bay, but she did not say this aloud.

They sheltered the horses in the half of the house that was missing its roof. There was just enough of a thatch overhang remaining to protect them from the elements if it started to rain but it was mostly open to the night air. Still, it was better than the full exposure of the previous night.

After Ross led them both in, the taller mare poked out of the uncovered space. She held her head high and exhaled a fluttering snort through her nostrils, eyeing Ross warily. He was reminded at once of something from his schoolboy days. Was it Prometheus? No, Achilles was the hero who had received a warning from his horse that peril awaited him. Ross was surprised he remembered this; his education had been more practical than classical.

_Have I led them all into danger? Maybe they were better off without me._

The third night they were still far from any town large enough to have an inn but cautiously approached a farmhouse to see if they might be put up for the night. In the end the old farmer was agreeable but whether it was because Demelza had spoken to him kindly and smiled most alluringly or because Ross had paid him handsomely, they couldn’t be sure. 

The old man seemed to live alone and after minimal conversation showed them to an unused bedroom at the far end of the house. He left them with half a candle, then shut the door on the tired family.

These accommodations were again an improvement over the previous night and they were appreciative of their continued good fortune. Demelza undressed Jeremy and laid him gently in the bed, speaking hushed and soothing words to him. The boy fretted for a moment then seemed to fall asleep quickly while his mother stroked his head. Ross began to roll out his bedroll on the rough stone floor next to them when Demelza spoke.

“Come Ross, I’ll move Jeremy so there's room for you too,” Demelza said. He couldn’t quite interpret her tone. It wasn’t a particularly warm invitation, just a practical suggestion that might benefit the whole company. 

_She sees me stiff in the morning and knows I'm too old to be sleeping on floors. At least she has the grace not to say it,_ he thought.

The bed was not large to begin with and sagged in the middle, despite their efforts to tighten the ropes before they all climbed in. Jeremy sank in the center at once and Ross found he had to carefully grip the bed rail on his side to stop himself from rolling over and crushing the boy. He felt certain Demelza wanted their son in the center as a physical --and perhaps emotional --barrier between them. Still, it was most assuredly better than the cold ground of their recent nights and Ross was able to fall asleep at once.

Around midnight Ross was awakened by a painful kick to his ribs. Jeremy had shifted in his sleep so he was now perpendicular with them both, but Ross dared not move him. As he tried to adjust his own weight the old bed creaked loudly. Demelza stirred and half-awake, registered Ross’s dilemma. She gently turned the boy and drew him closer to her, then slipped back into sleep. Ross lay quietly watching mother and son as best he could in the dark room. He longed to hold them both, to share in their warmth, and felt he had no business in this bed.


	8. The Old Inn

By evening of the next day, they at last reached Tyndrum, a crossroads town, where they hoped to find a room at an inn before the rains started. 

“You’d like it here, Ross. T’is a minin’ town,” Demelza said, lowering her hood as they approached the inn. She clutched Jeremy close to her.

The Old Inn was aptly named; it seemed an ancient place, dark and crowded with growling, drunken men who, thankfully, were ignoring the presence of the newcomers. Ross had to duck as he entered the door but found the ceilings inside were scarcely any higher. He quickly assessed the scene and bristled; the rough men made him uneasy. He took Demelza’s arm in his and held her firmly. She accepted the gesture as the duty of a sentinel, not the affection of a lover. 

“This is no place for a woman and a child,” Ross grumbled. She turned to him and spoke softly so others wouldn’t hear.

“Ross we haven’t a choice, do we? We can’t sleep out in the gutter and we need a proper meal.” 

They took a table in a far corner away from the fracas of gaming and shouting that continued in the middle of the room. Jeremy was wildly entertained by the activity and stared, eyes wide, but after a few mouthfuls of hot barley soup he curled up next to Demelza on the bench and signaled he was ready to sleep.

“Will you be you alright if I leave you for a moment and see to getting us a room?” Ross asked her. Men across the room looked up from their amusement to eye her. Even after riding for days, she was bright and lovely, her red hair soft and shining. Ross grew uneasier still.

“We should have had your meal brought to us upstairs,“ he muttered.

“Like I’m the Queen of Sheba? And call more attention to ourselves? Nay, Ross. No one is payin’ us any mind, they’re too taken with their own merriment.” Then seeing his growing alarm she sought to soothe him. She touched his arm lightly. “We’ll be fine here. _Haste ye back_ ,” she said with a laughing smile, assuming a convincing local accent.

Ross looked into her face, then down at her fingertips on his coat. Feelings he had been fighting hard since he first saw her again were flaming up in him again. Just one touch from her, not even on his skin, would do that. But it wasn't desire that was overwhelming him. It was the hint of kindness she couldn't suppress, no matter how she tried to maintain her cold distance. For so many years she had offered him that same cheering perspective to soothe his disappointments. Even before she was his wife, she could see the light in his dark. In that moment, reminded of what he had lost, he missed her more than he had in all their time apart.

*********

Demelza woke in the still guest room of the inn. It was dark but the pink beginnings of dawn were pressing through the small, dirty window panes. She looked down at Jeremy asleep beside her, his arms spread over his dark tousled head, and then over at Ross stretched out on the smaller bed by the door. His feet poked over the edge somewhat but his regular breathing suggested he too was sleeping soundly.

It had been a good night’s rest, well needed. Now with her head clear she took a moment to gauge what lay before her and try to make sense of the events of the past few days.

So Ross had come to seek her out and had ended up acting as her savior. Again. She disliked being indebted to him but then thought if she needed any help she was in some measure relieved it had been from Ross. How was it possible that this man was one she both trusted more than any other and one of whom she felt the least sure? 

And then there was Jeremy. He would forever link her to Ross as much as she had tried to pretend otherwise these last eighteen months. He was Ross’s son; Jeremy was warming to his father, growing more attached to him daily as they ventured south. Perhaps it would be different if Malcolm had lived. _Different, yes, but would it have been better?_

Downstairs in the kitchen, the bustle was beginning as the inn prepared for its travelers to break their fast. And if Demelza were at home, what would she be doing? Not lying in bed. She’d have been up for hours already no doubt, tending to the livestock. Then she’d help Mary with breakfast. She still did a fair portion of the cooking and never trusted the baking to anyone else. Not after all these years. It was strange to her that while this journey had been so far the most arduous she’d ever undergone, even riding on horseback she had felt uncomfortably idle. How would it be spending endless days in a coach?

Demelza had no thought of eating but knew it would be important for Jeremy and Ross, and for their sake hoped breakfast was prepared well enough. As long as she’d lived with Ross she’d never known him to complain about anything set in front of him but he was decidedly in better spirits if he ate good food. Was that really how their love affair had begun? Perhaps so.

The pigeons perching under the roof outside the window cooed softly. Demelza laid her head back on the pillow and listened. They seemed to be chiding her yet she found their tones soothing. _Yes, you are so determined to be mistress of yourself. So what will you do next?_


	9. Incertitude and Conviction

“Where are we goin’, Mama?” Jeremy asked while Demelza buttoned his coat. He was so trusting of his mother’s care and had asked no questions as they bundled him up and left home in such worriment and haste. Only now, days into their travel, did he inquire this of her. She tried her best to be cheering.

“We are going on a journey, my lover.” Though brief, that response seemed to satisfy him and he continued to finish his dressing on his own. 

“Why don't you tell him we’re going home? To Nampara?” Ross asked her when he thought the boy was no longer listening.

“Is that where we’re goin’? I don't recall ever havin’ settled on a final destination, Ross.” She didn’t look at him but continued to gather up their scant belongings.

“Of course, where else…” he began, frustrated by her stubborn resistance. 

“Well, we still have many miles before us and p’rhaps you’ll grow tired of me along the way?” she now quipped and turned to face him. She was smiling sweetly but her tone was sharp, too sharp to be a sincere tease.

“Demelza, how can you say that?” he said, insulted that after traveling this far together she might think so little of his trustworthiness. He looked at her and her silence told him what he suspected. She still doubted his commitment to her.

“What Jeremy don't know he can’t repeat in the wrong company,” she whispered to him. “Nay Ross, t’is better this way. When we get closer to Cornwall, if we are fortunate to get that far, then I’ll tell him where we’re bound. But not a moment sooner. T’would be too great a disappointment for him if something goes amiss.” This she said sincerely and now Ross could read her fear.

“Demelza, you shouldn’t speak of such things. I promised you…” he tried again.

“Ross, you are right. The worries are with me but no need to voice them and spoil _your_ confidence.” She turned from him to signal she was done speaking. Let him believe in his own heroics, she had no such faith.

*********

There was much to attend to that morning before they boarded the coach. Ross managed to get a good price for the matched bays while Demelza sought provisions for the next stage of their journey. She was gone for some time and as would be expected of her, had made some friends in the kitchen, to the benefit of them all. When she came back she had a proud smile and a basket filled with some hard rolls, dried fruit, and cured meat. 

The rain was steady now so they were glad to no longer ride on horseback. But the journey by coach was grueling in its own way. 

Ross began to see that it played to his advantage. Demelza, despite all the ways living in the Scotland Highlands had changed her, remained the same in that she relentlessly searched for the best in every situation. So while she clearly hated the jolting cold ride in the close and crowded coach, she allowed herself to take some comfort in Ross’s presence. At first it was reluctant, barely noticeable, but slowly it grew. She was most relieved to have someone to share her worry and care of Jeremy. That also brought them together.

It was hard traveling with a small child and got more difficult as the journey wore on. And yet they both supposed Jeremy was as well behaved as one could expect from one his age. He squirmed and fidgeted, climbed from one end of the coach to the other, asked incessant questions, complained of hunger yet refused all offers from Demelza's basket, cried, disturbed the other passengers, and on more than one occasion was sick on himself.

Ross wondered if McNeil had been patient with the boy. He must have been; Demelza would not have tolerated otherwise. Demelza never raised a hand to her child and her tone was never bitter nor sharp when reproaching him, and thus Ross followed her lead. It was extraordinary that one raised in such a cruel and stark childhood as hers had been, should know how to be so kind and loving even in the most exasperating circumstances. She had had no role models to follow; mothering was merely another area of her expertise in which she was self-taught. He recalled with a twinge of pain how she and their first-born, Julia, had such a strong connection. Demelza had spoken to her in almost a secret language, half sentences, bursts of song, and she always knew what the child needed before she would even fret. And yet it had been in _his_ arms that Julia had died…

The day they left Tyndrum they made good progress, covering almost thirty miles. They settled for the night at an inn outside of Dumbarton that seemed quite serene after the hours in the rattling coach. 

Demelza sat on the edge of the bed in the small, dark room and began to unbutton her coat. She tried not think of how creased and dull with grime her traveling clothes were growing. Ross entered the room carrying Jeremy, who wiggled against his chest and laughed when he saw he couldn’t free himself from his father’s strong embrace.

“What’s next, Ross?” Demelza asked him, a trace of despair creeping back into her weary voice. She immediately pulled back, hoping to disguise her anxiety. He said nothing but set the boy down and sat beside her on the bed. He dared not put his arm around her as he would have liked but he did lightly touch her arm to reassure her. This she allowed.

“Well, tomorrow we should reach Abington by nightfall. If the roads are clear. I heard that last week there was a coach upset and the drivers are wary, as they should be.”

“I’m fair jumpin’ out of my skin, Ross. Sittin’ in jostlin’ coaches among strangers all day, then sittin’ in dark inns among more strangers all night ...I feel like somethin’ has to happen soon and yet that somethin’ might is the very thing I dread.” She said this softly, then felt ashamed that she should complain. 

“I feel the same, Demelza. But we’ve made it this far without incident,” he said and continued to rub her arm.

“And I’m that grateful,” she said looking up at him with just a hint of a smile.

\----


	10. An Overdue Letter to Cornwall

 

Before his regiment was deployed to Flanders, Ross took most of a night finally writing his thoughts down to Demelza. He’d written such a heartfelt letter to her once years before, while he was in Bodmin jail awaiting trial for inciting riot. At that time being ripped from his wife’s arms when they had just lost their daughter was anguishing, yet another cruel blow he’d been dealt by such a monstrous world.  And here he was now so many years later, and he had _willingly_ left her side.  He saw the enormity of his mistake, of both reenlisting in the army and ever betraying her trust.  He knew he had cut her deeper, hurt her more than any lash ever could. He doubted he could make it right, but he could not go to battle and possibly to his own grave without trying.

_My Most Beloved Wife Demelza,_

_It is but hours until I leave English soil for what may be the last time.  And since it is a possibility that I may never return, there is much on mind and in my heart I must tell you. You may recall I made a will some years ago with Nate Pearce, in Truro. Pascoe will help you with anything regarding those affairs. I am grieved that both Dwight and Francis are gone and do wish there was someone you could rely on closer to home.  Look to Caroline Penvenen or Captain Henshaw should you ever find yourself in need.  Both have been loyal friends to me and would gladly extend the same friendship to you. I need not tell you this as you have always been good at sussing out friends._ _Another parcel will arrive for you soon, ordered from London.  It is not the same brooch we lost but similar in style. Perhaps it is better this way since the old one was tainted by my own stubborn arrogance. And yet you forgave me. For wagering it against Samson in a game of cards, for selling it in our poverty.  I would prefer to give it to you myself but in case there is no tomorrow for us it is best for you to have it at once. You no doubt will consider it a bribe, to get me back in your good graces. Perhaps that is my aim for yes, my conscience is troubled._

_Demelza, my dear, my very dear, my fine, loyal, sweet Demelza, there is one other thing I want you to know …_

Ross continued to write until he saw the green streak of dawn pushing its way up in the eastern sky.  He signed and sealed his letter, hoping it would get to her in Cornwall before it was too late.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. A Merry Night

Ross and Demelza’s coach did reach Abington as planned, in time for supper. From the outside the old inn looked similar to the others they had slept in along the way. But when they stepped inside, they found it a warm and jolly place and that put the whole family at ease at once. The proprietess was a sweet, stout woman of indeterminable age--she might have been as old as fifty or as young as thirty, they couldn’t be sure. She had a welcoming smile and acted as though all travelers passing through her inn were long lost relations. She introduced herself as Mrs. Margaret Reid; they never learned if Mister Reid was around but somehow sensed he was not.

There were two small Reid children, one boy and one girl, both around Jeremy’s age who immediately spied him as a potential playmate. They embraced him eagerly and dragged him off to their private rooms at the back of the inn. At first Demelza was wary to let him out of her sight but when she went to check on him, she saw how content he was and let him be. 

They ate well that night too. Simple enough--lamb, potatoes--but well prepared and served with cheer and pride by an older girl with the same laughing smile as the proprietess. They guessed she and everyone else bustling about tending to the visitors were also Reids.

The other guests were enjoying the genuine friendliness of the inn too and their laughter filled the main dining room. When several other travelers pulled out pipes and fiddles and began to play, the gaiety was contagious. It didn’t take long before dancing followed.

After they had supped and it grew late, Demelza left to find Jeremy. She discovered him on a bench in the kitchen, under a woolen shawl, his arms wrapped around one of his new playmates. They were both sound asleep; the joyous music drifting in was clearly not about to rouse them. Jeremy had a sweet smile on his little face, his cheeks pink. Demelza couldn't recall the last time the boy had spent time with anyone his own age and was comforted that he had found some diversion after days of tedious travel. She bent to pat his dark head.

“Let the weans rest, my dear. They’re not goin’ anywhere soon and my Martha will keep her keen eye on your handsome boy.“ Mrs. Reid nodded to the girl in the corner who was hard at work scouring down a large pot. “You go spend time with your handsome husband now. Enjoy a moment for yourselves,” she said with a knowing wink leaving no doubt what she was alluding to. Demelza hoped she hadn’t blushed at the suggestion. 

Demelza returned to the table in the crowded main room. Ross was watching the merriment of the musicians, but when he turned to her, his dark eyes shone. She was caught off guard by such an intense gaze from him but then noticed the twist of a smile that followed, as though he was restraining his laughter. 

“Ross?” she asked, putting down the cup in her hand.

“I believe, Demelza, you’ve just drunk _my_ ale,” he said in mock indignation, brows furrowed. There was a flicker of boyishness in his face, the playful tone made him seem suddenly much younger.

“Oh, is that so?” she said, looking at him slyly. “Then I’d better finish mine for good measure.”  
She reached for her own cup and drank its contents down in one lusty gulp. Her eyes remained fixed on him with a wicked smile. He threw back his head in a laugh then rose to get them more drinks.

There was an unusual lightheartedness between them that evening. They both felt it almost at once upon entering the inn and as the night wore on, it only expanded. The relative ease of that day’s travel, the relief that Jeremy had found his own amusement in the kitchen, the joyous music that came from the other side of the room, and the good ale all colluded to buoy their long-battered spirits.

Whether or not she wanted it, they were partners of one kind or another in this ordeal, conspirators together with a common purpose. It was a familiar, comfortable feeling for Ross, one he’d long missed. And while being content in Demelza’s companionship was not a new experience for him, drinking with her in an inn was. He found he rather liked this woman with her flirty eyes and coy smiles. Was she even aware of what she was doing? He was happy that he didn’t have to share the table or her attentions with any other man in the room.

They had brewed beer back at Nampara-- small ale, a functional, workaday drink. This was stiffer stuff. Port had always been Demelza’s tipple, first discovered long ago when she needed courage in trying new social settings, but rarely did she drink anything stronger. Ross saw how the ale she was drinking tonight was softening her edges, allowing the merry girl he once knew to peek out from time to time. He missed her and he wanted her back. 

He had a sudden fancy and with a devilish smile rose from the table. When he returned, he placed a small glass of rum in front of her. She sniffed it suspiciously.

“Ross! I couldn't! A lady drinkin’ rum at an inn? T’would be be scandalous!” she fretted.

Ross laughed at her sincerity, her sudden concern for propriety. 

“Everything, Demelza, about our journey is scandalous. It's a fine time to start worrying,” he said. “I thought if you were intending on drunkenness tonight you should at least do it properly. Besides it looks as though all the other ‘fine ladies’ here have no such reservations, nor are they giving us any notice,” he chided. “But perhaps…”

“P’rhaps, what?” she asked taking his bait.

“You have grown too delicate to join this soldier in a drink? Or perhaps you object to drinking with a _miner?_ ”

The challenge had scarcely left his lips before the drink was in her hand. It took her two swigs but she finished the glass and smiled a satisfied grin. Her eyes were now smiling at him as well. 

“I think the last time I saw you drink rum you were a girl and ended up wrestling Jud on the kitchen floor,” he said to her.

“That was gin, I b’lieve and you forbade me strong spirits after that!” she corrected.

“That might have been the last time you ever obeyed me,“ he mused. His mind wandered back to some years before, to the long-legged seventeen year old scullery maid, who cursed and sang, and took over his household before she had taken control of his heart. The night she had first seduced him, she had defiantly poured herself a glass of brandy. It was when he had furiously knocked it from her hand and she cried at her soiled dress that the seduction really began. The tears falling from her beautiful lashes had overwhelmed him and he had kissed her first in consolation, then with desire. 

He looked up at the woman across from him, still young and still just as strong willed. Good god, they had traveled so far since that first night in his bed. He laughed and rose to get them both more rum.

And so they sat together, happy in their cups, as the hour grew later still. The joyful music surged and when at times it drowned out their talk, they were content to watch the dancing. Ross found she wore her spirits well, better in fact than many men he knew. She sat upright still and her eyes shone bright. She caught him assessing her and saw he was impressed.

“Ross, don’t look so surprised. Surely you know me to be firm and steadfast,” she said boldly. “And so I am even after strong drink.”

“While sitting down, maybe. But can you stand on your feet, my girl?” he teased. He had another sudden fancy to test her good humor and with that, took her by the elbow towards the dancing that continued at the other end of the room.

She followed willingly and once they had joined the crowd, she gripped his sturdy arms as they stepped together. They were leaner than when she’d last held him--the difference between arms that toted a rifle and ones that labored on a farm--but she could feel they were still strong. Registering his might, her hands worked down to his forearms, then back up again. Her fingers seemed to be acting with a memory of their own. 

Ross welcomed her grasp on him and felt his body react to her changed touch. He meant to look down at his feet, hoping he wouldn’t clumsily trod on hers, and found himself instead watching her bosom as she laughed and sighed. She wasn’t wearing the modest lace fichu as she had when she was a young wife, but he felt certain it wasn't just the absence of the fichu, something else was changed. She was fuller, rounder, a mature woman. He longed to bury his face into her neck, nuzzle her collarbone with his nose and lips before resting his cheek on the exposed white skin of her breast. Without realising, he pulled her closer. Demelza leaned into him and tightened her grip on his arms.

The two fiddles were working together now, their melodies swelling higher, louder, sweeter. Ross felt himself caught on a wave of song that surged through him, settling somewhere in his chest. His hands were spread wide now, spanning her bodice, his thumbs grazing the under curve of her breasts. The hands then moved down from her waist to her hips.

He grabbed a handful of her skirts and with it, the flesh underneath --firmly, intently. When he looked back into her eyes, he saw no resistance there, only the unmistakable blaze of desire that he too felt. It was a drive familiar to both of them that neither had sated in some time. 

They stopped moving altogether and stood, each watching the other. She let go of one arm and with one bewitching finger, traced the scar still visible on his left cheek. Her touch on his face, light but precise, was too much for him. Eyes closed, he bit his lip in anguish. Slowly, he covered her warm hand with his own then pressed them joined, to his heart. 

In that moment she seemed to make a decision. He opened his eyes to see her mouth twitch in a smile. Still holding his gaze, she took a step backwards and lacing her fingers tighter into his, led him towards the doorway and up the stairs to their room.


	12. A Familiar Stranger

Once the door was closed behind them, Demelza grabbed Ross by the coat and kissed him slowly, her eyes laughing with an awareness of how much delight it was giving him. And after a moment, teasingly, she pulled away. Eyes trained on him, she began to unfasten her bodice and stays, then quickly let her petticoats fall so she wore nothing but a soft, loose shift and high white stockings.

Ross groaned at the long-missed sight of her inviting body. His head still swimming from the rum and the even more intoxicating kiss, he found himself woefully behind in his own disrobing. He wrested his coat from his arms and fumbled with the seemingly endless row of buttons on his waistcoat. He pulled down his braces then sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at his trousers and boots in dismay. It seemed a daunting task.

Demelza stooped to help remove his boots and as he watched her hands deftly coax the leather from his calves, he thought his chest might explode. She’d always helped him with his boots, even when she was a young girl. The tenderness he felt for her in that moment was as overwhelming as his hunger for her body. 

She lifted his shirt over his head then ran her hands back down his body to remove his breeches. He looked down at her, his dark eyes revealing more than desire; his need for her made him feel vulnerable, fearful, and even some measure sad. He’d been in this state before with her--realising how defenseless he was, his heart in her hands. 

He pulled her towards him, both pushing her shift up over her waist and pulling it down at her shoulder. Holding her close, he felt her bare skin on his belly, then rolled her over so she was beneath him on the bed. He paused to take her in. 

There was no more merry smile from her. Her lips were parted breathlessly and she looked at him with the heavy lidded eyes of a passionate stranger. She was at that moment a nameless, hungry woman at an inn, making herself available to a lonely traveler as he passed through town. No, she wasn't completely a stranger to him--he recalled this mysterious Demelza from the night they first slept together so many years ago. 

He kissed her, deeply and passionately, pressing his weight into her. She met his open mouth eagerly, her lips strong and determined as they joined his. He clasped her even closer, losing himself in her kiss. Ross would have been content to stay like that, holding her head in his hands, kissing her endlessly, all senses quickening from just feeling her lips on his.

But she had other ideas. Demelza broke from his kiss and guided his mouth down to the breast that had escaped her loose shift as it slipped open at her neck. He felt her nipple grow harder under his tongue and when he grazed it with his teeth, she wove her fingers deep into his hair and pulled him closer to her, signaling her assent. She took his hands in hers and placed them on her body-- one on her other breast and the other between her legs. She reached for him and when he felt her cool fingers strum his length, he moaned in torment. 

“Demelza,” he whispered in a voice low and hoarse as though it had not been used in some time. 

He had to have her.

And so he made love to this stranger, fascinated by each unpredictable move of hers yet familiar with every inch of her body. He breathed her name aloud but she said nothing to him and her eyes remained hidden under their heavy lids. Her skin merged with his yet she was far away from him. This was a woman who sought pleasure to escape the pain and struggles of this world, to find oblivion in another’s flesh, in one’s own release. It had been years since Ross had sought that kind of satisfaction in another’s bed, connecting with a body and not a heart, to lose himself in order to forget his hurts. 

And he did find it exciting that she had such an interest in her own pleasure. Another area of her expertise in which she was self-taught? He certainly didn’t want to think of McNeil schooling her in the art of love. This woman was not relying on Ross to meet her needs but touched herself and shifted her body with skilled precision as she joined with him in pursuit of her own satisfaction. To watch her now inflamed his arousal and he found the strength to meet her appetites over and over until exhaustion finally overtook them.

In the dark, Ross looked on the naked body lying next to him, that only hours before had seemed distant, unattainable, forever lost. Her eyes were closed, her face was flushed and damp, her breath heavy after such an exertion. At that moment he thought her the most beautiful woman alive. 

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He read her face and saw contentment, gratitude, and just a flicker of pity. What he did not see was love.


	13. In Name Only

Demelza rose from the bed and began to dress in the dark, turning her body away from Ross as though suddenly aware of her nakedness. 

“Demelza? Where are you going?” he asked her softly.

“I’m goin’ to get Jeremy. I don’t want him wakin’ alone in the kitchen.”

“No, stay as you are. Allow me,” he said and reached for his trousers. His need to protect her was flaring up again and he couldn’t bear the thought of her roaming the dark inn alone. 

When he returned soon after with Jeremy asleep in his arms, Ross found Demelza had put on her nightrail and slipped under the covers of the larger bed. He gently closed the door behind him, careful not to rouse the child. 

Jeremy did not wake but murmured quietly, then nuzzled his face deeper into Ross’s shoulder. Feeling an unmistakable loneliness now, Ross relished the loving touch from his son and didn’t want to put him down. He held the boy close for a moment and hoped he could again order his feelings. 

“Ross,” Demelza whispered to him. “Put Jeremy in the small bed... so he won’t be woke.” He tried to read her but her face was inscrutable in the dark. She was inviting him back to her bed, at least for that night. But he knew in his heart that what he wanted most-- her love, her tender embrace-- would not be on offer. 

*****

The next morning Demelza was slow to rise. Ross, himself up before the first light, was surprised at her unusual sluggishness. He had never known her to lie abed, it wasn’t in her bustling nature. But when she shielded her eyes against the sunlight and put her hand to her head, he understood what ailed her. 

“We should stay here another day or so and wait for the next coach,” Ross suggested, pouring her some water.

“And why would we do that?” she asked him as she began to dress.

“It is clear you are unwell. This journey--this ordeal-- has taken its toll on you. I should have observed it sooner. I’m traveling with a woman and a small child, not an army regiment and it does us no good to march on at such a pace.”

“Nay, Ross. I’d just as soon keep movin’. What could I possibly do here but twiddle my toes?” She fastened her bodice and began to replait her hair. 

“As your husband, can I not insist?” Ross regretted his choice of words before he was done speaking. He had forced her hand.

“My husband? Is that what you are or merely what we’re signin’ in the registry like so many other folk here last night?” she laughed. “Nay, Ross. I may have taken you back as my lover but you are not my husband still.” She delivered these words lightly, making it clear she was not inviting confrontation. 

_Yes, she’s right,_ Ross thought. Many a man and woman entered these inns purporting to be husband and wife so that they might lie together. And yet here he and Demelza were, indeed married before the eyes of god and the law, but were they not also deceitful in the roles they were playing? She was his wife in name and now in act, but it wasn’t real, not the way he’d once known her to be real.

********

That morning they had no other passengers traveling with them save one, an older gentlewoman who introduced herself as Miss Catherine Ellery from Coventry. Any relief the additional space in the coach might have offered was immediately overshadowed by the woman's unrelenting chattiness. She had been staying with her sister in East Kilbride, Mrs. Edward Souter, she said with a touch of pride as though they ought to recognize the name. Ross suspected she liked to hear herself talk.

“No, no my dears. We mustn’t open the windows to this air. Very dangerous! Yes, so I am told by my dear friend, Dr. Octavius Cuthbert-- he’s in Lyme of course,” she said to them, again suggesting he was an acquaintance worth having.

Demelza did not have the will to argue with a stranger. She put her hand to her belly and leaned her cheek against the closed, grimy pane; Ross saw her discomfort at once. He passed her his wooden army canteen, then reached over to take Jeremy on his lap, giving her even more room around her. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and he saw that in her own still-cool way, she was thanking him for the gesture. He smiled back a sly smile knowing how the events of the previous night had contributed to her current state. Well, some of the events. 

_Poor girl, she hasn't much experience with drinking after all._

He looked up to see their travel companion had addressed them. Neither he nor Demelza had heard the woman’s question.

“You’ll have to forgive my wife. We’ve been traveling…” Ross began.

He paused deliberately omitting how long they had been en route. They had both agreed to be vague about whence they had come or where they were going, and to only introduce themselves by name whenever strictly necessary. So far that had been just for inn guest-registries; they had successfully avoided making any formal introduction to the other passengers on coaches. 

“She is not well today,” Ross spoke to the woman. He hoped that might close the subject and signal they were in no mood for hours of idle talk as the coach rolled on. Demelza closed her eyes and tried again to rest.

The woman seemed to take no notice of Ross’s hints and instead turned her attention to Jeremy.

“And you, my young man? Where are you from? Where are you and your good family bound?” Demelza sat up straight and her hand instinctively went out to Jeremy, who now bounced on Ross’s lap. Ross too had tensed but said nothing.

“We are going on a journey,” the young boy laughed. “That’s my mama and this is my papa,” he said pointing first to Demelza and then up to Ross. He beamed a smile to his father then turned his attention to the wooden toy animal in his hands; both parents suppressed their sighs but each caught the other's eye for a moment of shared relief. 

At that moment Ross was reminded again of Demelza’s bottomless wisdom and he resolved to better trust her decisions moving forward.

But they needn't have worried about making conversation with the woman because she seemed content narrating the tales of her travel. Without pausing for any contributions from the others in the coach, she happily conveyed her social plans for an upcoming visit to a niece in Bath. Again she was keen to let them know of the importance of such a connection, for this niece had just married a cousin of the Honourable Sir James Dalrymple and had spent the winter at a very fashionable address.

As she spoke on, Ross grew more and more annoyed with her incessant name dropping and status seeking, and he turned his attention instead to Jeremy, still on his lap. Old Poldark blood ran through him but it was his mother's spirit that animated the boy.

 _Yes, Demelza is worthy of all my reverence, infinitely superior than any lord from some great family. She and her common people._ Well, maybe not her father. Ross thought men like Tom Carne who beat their children should be hung from gibbets. But the Martins, the Carters, the Daniels...these people were among the best he’d ever met. He had no patience for those who purchased titles or were forever chasing a rise in station.

He was brought back to the moment by a warm hand on his face.

“Papa, how did you get your scar?” the boy asked in a small, awed voice reaching up to trace the scar with his finger. _Like his mother had the night before._

“In a war long ago,” Ross answered as gently as he could.

“In France?” Jeremy asked. Ross was impressed that so young a child had listened to his mother’s talk and knew England was at war in France.

“No, in Virginia, my love.” He kept his voice low, trying to keep this private exchange just between him and his son, but the woman caught a single word and at once edged herself into the conversation.

“Virginia, you say? My nephew resides still in Richmond. He was a Loyalist but now he boasts of a Constitution…” she prattled on.

“Will I ever be a soldier, papa?” Jeremy asked him.

“I hope not, my boy,” Ross said and held him close for a moment.


	14. Comfort and Restraint

After that night in Abington, Ross and Demelza shared a bed in their travels. They would have to wait until Jeremy was asleep before they reached for each other; this new situation was both agreeable and frustrating. Having to demonstrate restraint somewhat hampered their passion, yet in a way their excitement was also heightened in this hushed and furtive lovemaking. Ross was reminded of when they had been new parents to Julia, how as conspirators, they would wait anxiously until she was asleep in her nearby cot, then try to keep low their whispers and moans as they sought pleasure quietly. 

Ross was happy to again have Demelza close to him in the night under any conditions. At the end of a long day of travel he found himself looking forward to climbing into these strange beds with her, knowing he’d have hours of tasting her lips, pressing her body to his, caressing her skin. 

But he wasn't sure what she thought of this arrangement. She made her pleasure known to him while they made love but afterwards her face betrayed little.

*****

Once they reached Beattock, Ross got his wish to rest between stages after all. The rains that came in the night were heavy and all roads were deep in mud. No wheels would turn no matter how strong the horses. They would need to stay put until things dried a bit.

Ross saw Demelza’s restlessness while they were delayed and decided the one thing he could do to alleviate her disquietude was keep Jeremy entertained. Once the rain had turned to a lighter drizzle, he took the boy out of the inn for a walk through town.

He held his son’s hand as they walked through the lane without any real destination. When he saw Jeremy was taking several quick steps and hops for each of his own long strides, Ross slowed to match his son’s pace.

“Papa, don’t horses like being wet?” Jeremy asked him as they passed a man leading his grey roan to the shelter of the village stables. She stopped to shake her head and neck, then pinned her ears. Ross was impressed that one as young as Jeremy could accurately read the mare’s mood.

“Some do and some don’t, I suppose. That one is clearly vexed but it may not have a thing to do with the weather,” Ross explained. “It could be her bothersome master,” he whispered. 

Jeremy tittered with laughter at his father’s joke and skipped merrily beside him.

“I had a horse, back in Cornwall, Darkie she was called, who seemed to enjoy getting wet especially if it meant we were riding by the sea,” Ross went on.

“Tell me about the sea, Papa!” Jeremy said with wonder.

As they walked on, hand in hand, Ross looked with love on the boy; he was struck by his good fortune to claim such a handsome and sweet natured child as his own. Jeremy had so many endearing expressions and manners-- he was alternately earnest and silly, possessing a keen imagination, but also observant of the world around him. Ross resolved that no matter how things ended between Demelza and him, he would never again abandon his son.

When they came to a ladies’ dress shop, Ross became inspired to search out a present for Demelza. He suspected she would only accept something from him that could be deemed useful and knew just the thing.

Once inside he and Jeremy deliberated over which pair of gloves might best suit her. They both agreed, with some enthusiastic encouragement from the shop girl, that Demelza would most likely prefer the dove-grey ones.

Ross held the supple leather against his own hand to better gauge if they were the proper size. Demelza’s hands were small but her fingers were long. He recalled with fondness how back at Nampara those long fingers had taken to the spinet. She looked so refined when she played; it was always such a contrast to the strength and vigor she exhibited in her chores. He smiled at Jeremy with tenderness as the shop girl carefully wrapped their purchase. Jeremy in turn squealed with delight at the idea that his mama would get a surprise present from them.

Once back in the room Jeremy danced with anticipation at delivering their parcel. Demelza’s eyes sparkled when she saw his excitement. He ran into her arms.

“Mama! Mama! Papa has something in his pocket for you. From a shop!” he cried.

“Has he?” she said sweetly to Jeremy, her eyes darting up to Ross. “You shouldn’t have, Ross,” she whispered to him. 

Ross sat beside her on the bed and put the package in her hand. He said nothing but kept his eyes trained on her as she unwrapped it slowly.

“They’re that lovely,” she said fingering the soft gloves, looking at both Ross and Jeremy with a smile. Ross took her hand in his.

“Put them on,” he said, still looking into her eyes. He glanced down at the soft white skin he was stroking gently with his thumb. 

It was then that he noticed the ring on her left hand. The band was wide and flat, the gold shone brightly. It was not the ring Ross had given her. He dropped her hand at once.

“Is that ring from... _him_? Do you still have the ring I gave you?” he sputtered. How could he not have noticed this before? Not when he washed her bloodied hands under the pump? Not in passion when she laced her fingers in his?

“Why, do you want it back? Do we need to sell it?” she quickly replied. If her aim had been to anger him or catch him off guard, she succeeded on both accounts.

“No, we don’t,” he muttered. 

Ross gathered himself and pressed the gloves into her hand. _You put her on the defensive, you fool. Of course she’d be sharp_ , he chided himself. He rose from the bed and crossed the room. 

“But on that subject,” he said, “you haven't asked me about how we’re fixed for money.” 

“How _we’re_ fixed? No, I haven't," she answered coolly.

“You should know, Demelza, Wheal Grace has been most profitable these last two years,” he said, his tone indignant, not unlike the way he used to school the servants when he was unhappy with them.

“And I’m that glad for you, Ross,” she said simply, looking him square in the eye. “For Jeremy’s sake.”

 

*********

The next day their wait was over. The coach rolled on, this time full of anxious passengers. They covered thirty miles and only had to stop twice due to road conditions. 

“I do wonder if a well-traveled road or one overlooked altogether be better for a coach?” Demelza mused as they lurched along.

“Well, some traffic is good, to keep a road firmly packed. But certainly if a road has too many coaches, wagons, or wheeled carts the ruts will grow deep and are hard to avoid. Roads in cities and larger towns can be unbelievably harrowing. But I suppose I’m partial to horses,” Ross replied.

“Suppose I am too,” Demelza said, then quickly added, “Unless, of course, there be rain.” 

Ross watched as she traced the raindrops rolling down the window pane with her elegantly gloved finger. She was again looking for the good in this situation. Was it for his sake or for Jeremy’s?

They reached Kirtlebridge before dark. They supped and took a room at The Wild Fowl, a noisy little inn bursting with travelers.

Demelza had a hard time settling that night even though she was exhausted from the jolting ride. When she finally fell asleep she had troubling dreams, something she hadn't experienced at any other time in her life. 

She was standing in the inn’s courtyard behind the kitchen and one by one she grabbed up fat, squawking hens and stabbed them through the heart. Her hands dripped wet with blood as they clucked and screeched, but she was determined to slaughter them all. She reached for the last one, a strong black Bantam, but it slipped through her wet hands and scurried away from her. 

She woke with a start to hear strange women, two or perhaps as many as three, their cackling laughter piercing the thin walls of the inn. A single deep baritone, presumably the man they were entertaining, followed.

“My love?” Ross asked her, waking besides her. She disliked that he called her that, rushing their intimacy, but he was insistent. 

“Just a dream I had. T’is a wonder this carousin’ don’t wake Jeremy,” she said softly. She was sitting up now and he gently pulled her down again so her head was level with his. She did not resist.

“You’ve seen him. Once he’s abed, cannons won’t wake him,” Ross said, his voice low and gravelly from sleep.

“He’s like you, Ross. Once your head hits the pillow, there’s no rousin’ you. T’is your willfulness, your stubbornness, you both have it.”

“You’re keeping me up now,” he said playfully and moved his head to get closer to hers. He rubbed his nose against her ear, her cheek, her jaw, before traveling down to her exposed collarbone. Most of her hair had escaped from her loose plait and now the fine hairs around her neck rose and fell as he breathed in her scent. 

She looked down on the dark head nuzzling her shoulder and found she welcomed his warmth. She took his hand in hers and brought it to her breast, letting out the soft, kittenish sighs she knew would foment his desire. He moved closer still, pressing his roused body against her hips to signal his intentions. She squeezed his hand tighter around her breast, then raked his bare thigh with her other hand, letting him know her hunger matched his. He eagerly pushed her nightrail up around her waist. 

They moved together, first silently then with a more rhythmic pulse that caused the old bed to creak, until they both found pleasureful release. Then the bed, no stranger to nights of amorous activity in that inn, was silent once more.


	15. Altered Expectations

It was a grey day; the sun seemed never to have fully risen and the fierce winds howled endlessly. The young woman sat by the low fire and mournfully stirred up the coals in the hearth. She had dressed that morning but not with any great care; her long red hair hung loose and as she bowed her sad head, it formed a thick curtain masking her face. She was glad to hide behind it. Smoke had drifted into the room and that, along with her sorrow, was causing her blue-green eyes to tear. 

She was really still a girl but since returning to her father’s house she had had to assume so many new responsibilities in the face of his growing infirmity, that the last vestiges of youth seemed to be wrested from her overnight. Of course mourning the recent loss of a dearly loved child had aged her most.

_I was once a servant. And I knew my place. But what am I now?_ she thought. Her mother long dead, her brothers all gone, this cottage was lonely, dark, and in great disrepair--such a contrast to the warm and comfortable home she’d been living in for some time now. Yet it wasn’t the house she missed but its inhabitants.

For almost two years she had been living happy day to day, not thinking about what the future held, just content with the simple pleasures she found around her. She had worked hard but it was enjoyable knowing she had purpose, she had love to give and received love in return. For the first time in her life she could sincerely say that she belonged somewhere, she was needed, she was wanted. If she had known that overnight, without warning, it would be ripped from her, would she have approached her days any differently? She couldn’t say.

From the pocket tied under her skirts she pulled a tiny blouse she’d been carrying with her and gently fingered the delicate stitching at its neck. Never the nimblest with a needle, she’d tried her best nonetheless for this one, picking out any mistakes to do over until it was just right. Perhaps it had been a silly notion to try such dainty smocking for a small child but it had been a labor of love. Now she held it to her breast and tried to suppress the sobs she knew were coming. It would never be worn.

“Mary, my Mary! Such sorrow! What’s amiss, my lass?” her father called to her, trying his best to be gentle with her.

“Oh Dadaidh! Mistress McNeil and the bairn--I can feel it. They’re nae comin’ back.” 

She pulled the still-sealed letter from her bodice where she’d kept it close to her for weeks on end. She now had to find the strength to face it. It was time to read her mistress’s final instructions.


	16. An Unquiet Mind

Ross woke early and looked over at Demelza still sleeping beside him. She was curled like a comma-- knees pulled up, head bent. She had thrown off the covers and while she didn’t seem bothered by the cold, Ross couldn't bear to see her legs and feet so exposed. He pulled the bedclothes back over her then took her warm hand gently in his, pressing it to his lips. She did not stir. 

When he had plucked her from a dogfight in Redruth so many years before he would never have believed that one day the starving urchin would be such an alluring woman. That she’d have taken up residence in his heart-- and his bed. That she would bear two of the most beautiful children he’d ever known. That her once rough fingers could deliver the most exhilarating caresses. That he’d have followed her hundreds of miles just to bring her back to him. 

_You’ve grown, my girl._

On the streets below the rough action of the night was shifting to the more muted bustle of morning trade, as carts rolled and peddlers shuffled over the rugged cobbles. He rose and dressed quietly. He thought he’d go for a walk alone before the inn’s inhabitants fully woke. 

The air was crisp but smelled sweet and fresh from the previous evening’s rain. It didn't take long after he’d left the inn’s door to reach the end of the village. He walked briskly, up through someone’s terraced garden, past a dove cote, along a canal. 

_These are the meanderings of an unquiet mind_ , he thought as he continued along the dark water’s edge.

Yes, she was using him but he did not feel ill-used. She now accepted his care during the day and welcomed his bodily comfort in the dark. She needed him. Wouldn’t love follow? Was that not precisely how his love for her was born so many years ago? 

As he walked his mind moved to Cornwall and what awaited them there. He felt eager to get back to his land and his mine. Could this really mean he had finally purged himself of his appetite for battle? He laughed at the thought.

Wheal Grace was doing well in the capable hands of Henshawe, the mine captain. Henshawe was steady, made wise decisions but took considerably fewer risks than did Ross. There’d been no new lodes found in the time Ross was gone; perhaps it was now time again to do some exploring at the lower depths. 

Ross hoped their home and farm were as well cared for as the mine. He assumed the favorable reports he’d received had not been overly embellished. He hadn’t yet told Demelza about the caretakers he’d recently engaged for Nampara and couldn't guess if she’d be pleased or vexed. He had never met them and knew it a gamble, but was convinced that taking them on was the right thing to do. Now he wondered if hiring them had been another attempt to soothe his troubled conscience.

Ross was cautious about speaking of Cornwall at all with Demelza. It was understood that it was their shared destination but he still harbored a fear that she might change her mind. Perhaps her superstition was rubbing off on him, a worry that to even speak of Cornwall might cause something to go amiss.

He looked up to see he was being eyed suspiciously by a local man in a coarse coat and tattered hat. Ross laughed to think how he must come across-- a dark scarred stranger wandering without aim and muttering to himself? He touched his own hat to wish the man good day and turned back towards the village. He had come far and wondered if he’d been missed.

Ross reentered the room quietly but found Demelza already awake. She was dressing Jeremy who wiggled away from her grasp and ran to wrap his arms around Ross’s legs.

“Papa!” he called. “You was gone. We thought you left us.”

“Did you?” he asked, stroking the boy’s head but looking at his wife.

“We did not,” she said. Whether her soft tone was for him or for Jeremy did not concern Ross. She was telling their son his father could be trusted. She trusted him.


	17. A Goodbye to Cornwall

Before Demelza had finally left with McNeil, she wrote to Ross and sent the letter to his banker, Pascoe, for forwarding, or at least for safe keeping. She knew not of anyone else to turn to and did not trust the letter to find its way to Ross through any other means. She wrote a brief note to Pascoe explaining its contents; she thought it only fair that he have a sense of the burden now in his charge.

_Dear Mr. H Pascoe,_

_I am trusting this letter to your care that it shud find a way to Capt Poldark wherever he may be.  And it may be that he don’t see it until he returns from war, god willing, and you can present it to him at such time. I am taking my son north and leaving this county. We shall be under the care of Capt McNeil of the Royal Scots Grey. Shud any harm come to Ross I trust you will look after his affairs until Jeremy is of age when he may seek you out.  I want nothing. I am sorry to leave you with such a duty to discharge but Ross has always trusted you in his affairs.  I do hope I can trust you with mine as well._

_Most sincerely,_

_Mrs. Demelza Poldark_

It would be the last time for over eighteen months that she would she would refer to herself as Poldark.

Demelza’s decision to leave Nampara had not been impulsive.  Ross had already left to to rejoin his regiment while she was away from home, attending to cousin Verity in her confinement following young Andrew’s birth.  It didn't entirely surprise Demelza when she returned to learn that Ross was gone; their last conversation-- no, it most assuredly had been a argument-- was such a cruel exchange.

She had told him about her first evening with Malcolm, her attempt at intimacy with a man who wasn't her husband and how she found she could not follow through.  And as expected, Ross was shocked, angry, insulted. He was incredulous that Captain McNeil would dare to touch his wife and lamented outloud that the incident did him no credit. To Demelza, Ross’s initial concern seemed to be about his diminished reputation and not about where his wife’s affections truly lay.

But there was more she hadn’t expected. In his anger, as he was explaining or perhaps trying to justify his own night with another woman, Ross had used a word that she would not forget: _devotion_.

“It was the outcome of a devotion which on my side lasted ten years..” he had sputtered furiously.   _Devotion_. She would have understood it if he had said lust.  She’d also understand it if he had said love.  But _devotion_ …

Demelza knew herself to be a warm and loving person. She kept few grudges and until Ross’s night with Elizabeth, had never let the sun set on her anger with him.  She tried her best to keep an open heart for everyone that entered her life and persistently looked for the good in things.  Perhap she was simple. But it did seem to her that no matter how big hearted and generous one was, there can’t really be room in one’s heart to be _devoted_ to more than one person.  

And it became clear to her that it had been months, no years, since she had felt _sure_ of Ross’s devotion. Yes, he had lived along side his wife and liked her, and they still found pleasure with each other in their bed.  But his attention, his _devotion_ had been elsewhere for some time. First, he was wholly occupied keeping his neck out of a noose, then keeping himself out of debtors’ prison.  Next he threw himself into the folly that was Wheal Grace’s resurrection.  Finally after Francis’s death, his attentions went to Trenwith. And Ross’s great need to be a hero, to find someone who needed him had been met by the poor helpless residents of his ancestral home.  And so his _devotion_ to Elizabeth was awakened and grew until it’s painful outcome that night in May.  

And in that final exchange between them, Ross and Demelza spoke of lost trust, but it was about more than that. She felt he had no devotion to her and he was too blind to understand the depth of hers.

After Ross had rejoined his regiment, Malcolm had visited her a few times at Nampara.  At first it was a quick visit with a chivalrous apology for his behavior at Sir Hugh’s party.  His visit surprised her and she was ready to turn him him away but against her better judgement listened to his seemingly sincere words.  He returned a few more times, sometimes with a plant or flower from Sir Hugh as a pretext for his call.  And with each visit she began to feel that it just might be possible for her to again know devotion from a man, from _another_ man.  She knew she wanted that and thought she deserved it.

She could not stay where she was.  If she did, the bitterness that had already begun in her heart would grow and the worm would surely destroy the bud.  She felt she owed it to her once caring and warm heart to seek another path.

She had been honest with Malcolm before she agreed to leave with him.  She would not be meek and she would speak her mind to him. He must prepare to consider her a partner in most matters.  And he could never come between her and her son.

Malcolm merrily agreed to her terms and they left the following week. She said nothing to the servants as she left but she saw they understood.  She hoped no harm would come to Ross at war and that all the demons that spurred him towards recklessness and violence would finally be exorcised on a real battlefield.  

But she was not coming back.

*********

“Demelza, my dear, wake up,” Ross said gently touching her arm as the coach rolled through the afternoon mist.

“What?” she asked in alarm. “What is it, Ross?”

“We’ve crossed into England.  I thought you’d want to know.”

 


	18. Fragile Companionship

Ross awoke to a sea of Demelza’s red hair spilling over from her pillow on to his. Along this journey Ross had come to relish these brief moments in the early morning before Demelza rose; it was a chance for him to look on her with love without putting her on the defensive. She lay on her back, sleeping, her peaceful face betraying the slightest smile. 

_So you can't hide your contentment from me all the time,_ he mused. 

He recalled sharing a bed with her back at Nampara. Her hair, when loose, would be everywhere; he’d wake to find it on him, under him, wrapped around his body. He loved to stroke it, to put his face to it, to breath in its delicious smell, to grab great handfuls as they made love. He’d sometimes mischievously undo her handiwork if she plaited it before bed. Did he really never tell her how much it meant to him? 

During the day she had often worn it down, just pulled back from her face. And when he’d return home from the mine and would encircle her in his arms, he’d reach behind and wrap a tendril around his finger. If it was a longer embrace, as he held her close he might grab a whole fistful of whatever he could catch. Sometimes he’d give it a playful yank and she’d respond by threading her fingers through his own hair and teasingly tug back. 

He gathered some in his hand now and breathed in its smell. At Nampara it had smelled of sea, of fresh air, of wood smoke. Now he caught the peat smoke of the fires here and other rich aromas that had wafted up from the kitchen, but also he recognized her own distinct scent. Warm, earthy, familiar. There was no rich perfume or scented oil worn by the finest ladies anywhere more inviting to him than the smell of the woman lying next to him. 

Watching her face now in such gentle repose he couldn't resist the urge and taking a long, soft strand between his fingers, he gave it a gentle tug. She woke with a start and seeing Ross’s sportive grin, she had to fight hard to contain her urge to laugh. He immediately grazed her warm neck with his cool lips and reached up under her nightrail to feel the bare skin of her thighs. Again he pressed himself against her so she could feel his desire but this time she patted him gently on the back, and with a quick hop, rose out of bed.

“Sorry to dash your hopes, Sir, but since I’m to be woke, we’d better get movin’,” she said brightly. “Can’t miss our coach, can we?”

Ross was disappointed but was somewhat consoled by the playful tone she took. It reminded him of their former life together; in the best of times, their relationship had plenty of warm teasing and jest. Yet he knew now that this lighthearted state was fragile, without the deep font of love to back it up, sporting banter was not enough.

 

*********

Ross enjoyed watching Demelza’s wonder as they traveled. Before she left with McNeil, Demelza had never traveled farther from Nampara than Bodmin. The circumstances of that visit had been grim--she did not care for the boiling crowds at election and even less for the blood thirsty ones at the assizes-- so it was not a trip she sought to repeat. But now she could not disguise her delight with the sights she spied from the coach. The ever-changing landscape, the bridges and ferries, the crossroads of larger towns all fascinated her. Ross was impressed that she took to traveling well, almost as though she were an expert. She was poised, spoke to strangers and inn keepers with a bright confidence, and each day attentively tracked their mileage. But he knew he shouldn’t be surprised; it was consistent with her character. She always had been a quick learner and very adaptable.

They arrived at Kendal before nightfall. As they were settling into their room, Ross was struck by an impulse to change the nature of this trip with his family. What if instead of fleeing in haste to return to Cornwall they took the time to see more of England _leisurely_? They might choose a destination to visit instead of just passing through town after town. He wasn’t sure they’d ever get another chance and since he knew not what awaited them at home, this idea was appealing to him. He acknowledged this was a change from the familiar restless desire to get back to his mine and suspected Demelza’s subtle thawing was in part responsible. Certainly a few extra weeks delay wouldn’t hurt them. He decided he would begin inquiries at once but perhaps might wait a day or two to tell Demelza of this new plan.

“Is that water I see over the distance?” Demelza asked looking out the window. He interrupted his scheming to join her across the room. 

“I think not. There is a river here but I believe we are far from it. Must be a smear on the dirty glass you see,“ he laughed, untying his neck stock. 

“I miss the sea. I swear I do hear it sometimes still, roarin’ off in the distance.” Her voice suddenly had a dreamy quality to it. Though it was still a veiled reference, it was the first time he had heard her speak of Cornwall.

“I know. I’ve lived my whole life near the sea and have only found myself inland while at war. I think I need it to feel...peace,” he said.

“Peace?” she laughed. “Do you recall what it’s like on the stormiest of days? The angry surges? When sea and sky meet and there’s no horizon as far as you can see, for the all the great swells and spray?” She moved to the bed and began to unbutton her jacket.

“Yes, that," he said. “Indeed she is a mistress who must be heeded in her anger.” 

“Still, I miss it just the same,” she said.

“Will you miss your Highland valley?” he asked. He almost did not dare to. They were having a genuine conversation in that moment and its casual spontaneity was warm, real. It was the intimacy of pure companionship. To remind them both that she had once left him and created a new home for herself in a far off land might be risky. He took the chance.

“P’rhaps sometimes I may, it was that lovely. Such a quiet place. But also... lonesome. I never minded bein’ alone but t’was different. Like the valley itself was lonesome, left behind by someone it loved.” She thought of the wind that would sweep through Achindall sounding like an old woman’s cries.

He ventured further.

“Do you wish you'd stayed?” he asked. He needed to know.

“I regret nothing,” she said simply without a moment's hesitation. Her look, unblinking, resolute, said volumes.


	19. Hope Erased and Carried Out of Hand

To Demelza, the days of traveling in England now seemed endless. She still marveled at the landscapes they passed through--dark forests rising up on either side of the road, rolling patchworks of green meadows stretching into the distance, moors that would not yield their mysteries to any passers-by. These were a change from the Highlands and very different than her native Cornwall. But all the towns looked the same to her, all the rooms felt damp and musty. She tried not to think about the fleas and other infestations that were surely in the beds and in the coaches, sometimes visible and sometimes not. She worked hard to see the good in their current circumstances and even harder at disguising her displeasure from Ross or Jeremy. 

And Ross? How did she feel about the man traveling beside her who had also resumed his place as her lover? 

She was not unpleased he was back in her son’s life. Jeremy was her beloved and she was moved by his happiness as he grew closer to his father. Jeremy had responded warmly to his Ross’s affection and gave it back in large measure. It was Ross’s hand he now reached for first when they walked side by side, Ross’s strong arms that comforted him if he was frightened, Ross’s attention he sought while riding in the coach. He seemed a bottomless font of questions that only his papa could answer. 

And she? 

She certainly was grateful for the safety Ross provided her and her son. Day to day she managed to keep Macpherson from her thoughts but their violent struggle had left its mark on her. She found to her chagrin she was unsettled, easily startled. Of course she hid these new fears from Ross and Jeremy by maintaining an exterior of control and calm but inside she felt a change. For what might have been the first time in her life, she now doubted she could fend for herself and instead had to acknowledge the real dangers awaiting a woman on her own. But no one dared menace her while she was with Ross. And should anyone try, she felt assured they would be met with a fiercely protective response from him. 

And Demelza could not deny she was appreciative to have Ross back in her bed. There was a part of her, long neglected and hungry, that Ross was helping to feed. And even though it was different than making love to him in their previous life together, she still found his warm flesh on hers most pleasing. She may have closed her heart to him but her body had needs of its own. His mouth on her, his body joining with hers, became a sort of resistance against the cruel horrors of the world. When they were abed she need only think of her pleasure in that moment and was not burdened by what lay before her--or behind her. 

But Demelza also found she was also growing more and more accustomed to Ross’s company during the day and that warming had her concerned. 

She was reminded of one particularly cold spring morning when she was a little girl, still living in her father’s squalid miner’s cottage in Illugin. She had woke to find a baby bird frozen in the water pail left outside overnight. She was heartbroken to see the young thing dead but was also fascinated by the way the ice had preserved it, as though it was encased in a block of glass. 

She was beaten for leaving the pail uncovered so later when she trudged back to the stream to fetch more water, she felt her back smarting in the cold. But first she laid the small frozen body carefully in an old pile of straw in the sunshine. As it dried, the soft down, what would have grown into glorious feathers had they been given the chance, became distinguishable again. Whenever she could that day and the next she snuck out to look at her bird as it thawed. And she came to regret that it had melted, for as long as the bird was preserved in the ice, its ultimate demise was somehow postponed; it remained whole and was not yet broken and withered. But she knew, even though she was so young, that the beautiful creature would never come back to life. 

And now she was worried that if her feelings warmed even just a little bit she’d have to face what was broke and forever lost. If she could only maintain some degree of distance from Ross then she might keep her heart frozen, contained, and forever preserved, as it had been for so long.

*****

They were taking their midday meal at Bournheath; Demelza hoped the break from the coach would brighten her spirits. She found she could better enjoy the inns during the day when the inhabitants seemed less rowdy, less weary, and less desperate.

“Demelza, I have a confession to make. About our journey,” Ross said to her with raised brows and a playful grin.

“Yes, Ross?” She smiled back at him with curiosity.

“It seems, Demelza, we are at a crossroads,” he began. 

Thinking he was referring to something else, her face fell at once. 

“I mean, here, at Bournheath,” he quickly added. “And so this afternoon we are not catching the coach to Worcester but instead I’ve made arrangements to travel southeast. To Banbury.”

She looked at him, puzzled but intrigued.

“Instead of rushing back to Cornwall, I had thought we might first travel to London,” he explained.

“To London?” she began. “Oh Ross! T’is indeed a surprise. I never been to London and don’t know what to expect but…” 

“And you are pleased?” he asked her cautiously.

“Yes, yes I am,” she replied. He was gratified to see her smile broaden; her eyes were smiling too.

“Did you hear that, my dear?” she said turning to Jeremy. “Your papa is taking us to London. T’is a big town, biggest of any you’ll likely ever see,” she said softly.

Ross sighed with relief at her response. He had hoped she’d be agreeable but had not expected such joy. She seemed genuinely excited and there was most assuredly a change in her expression. It was as though they now had something to look forward to, some hope for the weeks to come. They talked together about the change of route while they cheerfully ate their meal.

“Ross, who’s been carin’ for Nampara while you’ve been away?” she asked him suddenly.

“Finally your curiosity gets the better of you!” Ross slapped his hand down on the table in laughter. “If you must know, Prudie is. And I’ve hired some other caretakers…”

“Prudie?!” She interrupted, laughing skeptically. “Surely you jest, Ross?”

“You don't approve?” he asked. He smiled, pleased to see her so amused. She looked back at him, her eyes laughing too. 

Then she seemed to catch herself and turned away quickly.

“T’was just I was thinkin’ of the neglect that happened when you last went to war. T’would be a shame for you to come home to ruin yet again,” she said. “No one wants to go backwards in their life, Ross,” she added.

There it was again: the cold politeness as though she was talking to a neighbor. Just when he thought they were moving forward, talking with their guards down, teasing each other. He had found her warmth had been more consistent each day they journeyed together. But to Ross, this was like the jolt of finding the sea bracingly cold while the air of summer still felt warm.

_A mistress who must be heeded in her anger._

Like his beloved sea, Demelza was telling him clearly and he needed to heed her. She wasn’t concerned about Nampara; she didn’t consider it hers anymore. And he must again face that Demelza was no longer his.


	20. An Unwelcome Encounter

After his disappointing conversation with Demelza in Bournheath, Ross grew rather sullen. He had a hard time concealing his sour humor from his family or the other passengers on the coach; he said little and when spoken to directly, he grumbled curt responses. Demelza wasn’t pleased but, sensing she was in some part responsible for his dark mood, didn’t press him. She gave him a wide berth and tried to be extra attentive to Jeremy.

It was evening when they reached Banbury. Ross suddenly felt the journey wearing on him and was now regretting his impulsive decision to detour to London. He didn’t know what would happen when they finally reached Cornwall--if they ever did-- but he was anxious to get on with it. Their current state, betwixt and between, was frustrating to everyone. 

“I’ll see to getting us a room,” he muttered to Demelza as they entered the inn. He didn’t bother to survey the guests--he knew what he’d find. Weary folk, rough folk, drunk folk. 

Jeremy started to follow him but Ross told him to stay with Demelza. The boy was hurt by his father's abrupt tone but took Demelza’s hand as ordered. 

“Come, Jeremy. Let’s get some food in your belly,” she said to him gently. “A good sup might cheer a body,” she added, glaring at the back of Ross’s head.

Ross settled his business with the innkeeper directly and secured their room for the night. As he returned to the main room, he felt a change in him. For the first time since they left Abington, he wasn’t looking forward to sharing a bed with Demelza. She had reminded him of the distance that remained between them, and he was stung by her unwillingness to yield. Could he bear to take her in his arms and make love to her knowing her heart was still out of his reach? 

The inn’s dining room was less crowded than he had anticipated. Ross spotted Demelza sitting on a bench nearby, her arm around Jeremy. He could see she was speaking reassuring words to the boy as she bent low and gently grazed his curly head with her lips. 

It was then Ross heard a blustering voice behind him. He didn't need to turn to know it would belong to someone in a red coat. He recognized the swagger, the overconfidence of one basking in his own sense of authority-- a soldier’s authority backed up by a gun. 

Ross let out an exasperated sigh then moved on towards Demelza and Jeremy. He hoped he hadn’t sounded like that to her earlier but suspected he did. No, not like a bellowing boor but maybe a petulant ox. He’d need to make it up to her. He would rather be at her side, no matter how much she maintained her reserve, than back in the company of smug soldiers.

Ross was startled back into the present by what he heard next.

“Looking for...Poldark...traveling this way…was told back at...” Ross couldn’t make out all that was said, but caught enough to know the soldier was seeking him. Ross was immediately alert, ready to make rapid fire decisions. 

This could only be about Macpherson. But how could they know? Ross felt confident he could answer questions vaguely enough and stare down whomever was asking them but he couldn't risk them speaking with Demelza. He was next to her in a moment and whispered in her ear hastily.

“Demelza, we need to get you out of here. Feign ill,” he whispered, holding her arm tightly.

“Ross? What?” She stared at him, open mouthed.

“Now. Faint!” he growled low.

Demelza sensed the urgency in his strange bidding and trusted Ross wouldn’t lead her astray. She immediately closed her eyes and allowed herself to collapse against him, adding an audible moan for good measure. He caught her as she swooned and assumed a look of alarm on his face.

“My wife is ill! I need to get her upstairs,” Ross called to the inn keeper. “Now!” he barked. He got to his feet and scooped Demelza up in his arms. He hoped this diversion would work and he could get her out of there before the soldiers approached them.

He carried her up the narrow stairs, a frightened Jeremy trotting beside him. Once in their room, he laid her on the bed and untied her cloak to give her more air. He took her hand in his and bent low.

“Good girl,” he breathed in her ear. He felt her give his hand an almost imperceptible squeeze.

“There’s a surgeon just up the road. Visiting Lord Alfred at the Golden Stag. I can call ‘em, sur!” the innkeeper said anxiously to Ross.

“Do not trouble yourself. I’m sure she’ll be fine in a moment,” Ross said. No need for a doctor to further complicate matters. Ross just wanted this man to close the door and leave them alone so he could explain what was going on to Demelza and Jeremy both. But the innkeeper was worried and stood with his hand on the doorknob, refusing to budge. So Ross, taking Jeremy by the hand, stepped in the hallway and shut the door himself, leaving Demelza alone in the room. 

He regretted leaving the room at once when a young girl came breathlessly up the stairs and met them in the narrow corridor.

“Major Poldark, sir? There’s some men, soldiers, downstairs that be wishin’ to speak to thee,” she said, then curtsied awkwardly and turned.

Ross held Jeremy’s hand still firmer and followed the innkeeper down to a small room that served as an office at the back of the main dining room. There they were met by two men, one in the red uniform of His Majesty’s army, as Ross expected, and the other, perhaps a civilian, in a long dark brown coat.

“Major Poldark, is it? Such luck for us. I’m Captain Copeland and this is Halliwell, the constable here in Banbury.”

“Gentlemen,” Ross said crisply. 

“We are hoping you can help us, Poldark,” Halliwell said gruffly.

“I can’t see how,” Ross responded. He was not going to give them any more information than was strictly necessary.

“Like I said, sir, it is a fortuitous meeting. We heard back in Gaydon you had travelled through.”

Ross looked at Copeland blankly. If the captain had a question, he’d need to come out and ask it directly.

“Tell me Major. Is it true you’d been in Scotland recently?” Copeland inquired.

 _There it was._ Just as Ross dreaded but at least now he knew where they stood. He smiled and assumed a most polite, gentlemanly air. He also straightened up and held his head high as if to remind this man that Ross, a major, was superior in rank to him.

“Indeed, _Captain._ I had sought out an old army comrade of mine, but sadly learned he had died. And so it was a futile journey.”

“That would be Captain McNeil, I assume? And are you familiar with his widow?” Copeland asked.

“Yes, I did have the occasion to meet her once,” Ross replied.

“Well it seems she is now missing from her home as is another man from the district and so we’re hoping you might know where she and this fellow might have gone to,” Copeland asked.

“How curious.” Ross raised an eyebrow as though intrigued by such a tale. “You believe them _together?_ I’m afraid I couldn’t help you. I had very few dealings with her. But tell me Captain, isn’t Scotland a bit far from here for you to be searching for a missing person?” 

“Just following up for our friends in Scotland, sir. Like I said, was just luck we found you since you may be the last who’s seen Mistress McNeil,” Copeland said.

 _Luck indeed,_ thought Ross.

“And you young man? Where are you from? Where are you going?” Halliwell asked Jeremy brusquely. Ross tensed but saw there was nothing he could do. Jeremy pulled himself up straight just as he had seen his father do, and looked the man in the eye.

“Cornwall, sir. I am Master Jeremy Poldark. This is my papa. Tell me sir, is my mama at all well?” he asked.

*********

Demelza sat up when she heard a faint knock at the door. She said nothing but when the door began to open she laid back down at once. 

A young servant girl came in carrying a pitcher of fresh water and a cloth in her hands.

“Beggin’ yur pardon, Ma’am.” She bowed to Demelza when she saw she was awake. “I’ve come to tend to thee.”

"So kind of you, my dear,” Demelza said. She looked into the girl’s face and saw she was grey with fear. Demelza had a feeling that the poor thing had witnessed real sickness before, and most likely death, in these very rooms. She regretted that she was adding to this girl’s sorrow and wished she could do something to alleviate her anguish.

“I’m sure to be fine in just a moment,” she said softly.

“Surgeon is on his way, ma’am. We was lucky he was in the lane nearby,” the girl said, wiping Demelza’s face timidly.

“Surg…? Oh no, surely t’isnt necessary,” Demelza fretted and sat upright. She started to get out of bed when again she registered the look on the girl's face. 

“Ma’am!” she choked and held out her hands to stop Demelza, then immediately drew them to her side. The girl wouldn’t dare to give her orders but was clearly terrified Demelza would fall-- or worse-- if she got up. She was paralysed with indecision. 

Another knock on the door--this time gentle but with purpose--broke the tension and the girl whirled around to answer it. She opened it but a crack; just one low, hushed exchange with whomever was on the other side was enough for her to eagerly fling it open wide.

“You may leave me with my patient,” said the visitor to the girl, who was all too happy to take her leave.

At the sound of that familiar voice, Demelza thought she might indeed fall over.


	21. For What E'er Drifts From One Place Is With the Tide To Another Brought

“Dwight! Can it really be you? Oh Dwight!” Demelza cried. She could scarce believe it. Dr. Dwight Enys, one of their dearest friends from Cornwall, was really standing there in front of her in this dusty guestroom in Banbury. She was on her feet and had her arms wrapped around his neck before he had a chance to answer.

“Demelza, tell me are you unwell?” Dwight asked her with concern. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.

“No! Never braver…t’was Ross’s idea I should feign sick. T’is some trouble with soldiers I b’lieve…” Demelza replied quickly.

“I met Ross downstairs and all he could tell me was not to let the Captain nor the Constable see you, if possible,” Dwight explained. So they were both in the dark as to what danger these men presented but each trusted Ross enough to follow his lead and his instructions.

Just then there was a loud knocking at the door, clearly made by a large, impatient fist. Dwight slipped out of the room and met Halliwell in the dark and narrow corridor.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, Sur, but we be needin’ a word with the Major’s wife,” Halliwell said coarsely. It looked to Dwight as though at any moment the buttons would pop off the waistcoat that stretched across this man’s expansive middle.

“To what purpose?” Dwight asked abruptly.

“Well ‘er ‘usband seems to know something about…” Halliwell began.

Dwight cleared his throat to signal he had ceased listening.

“Sir,” Dwight began, no longer trying to contain the irritation in his voice. “Ross Poldark is a gentleman and a major in his Majesty’s army. Certainly you seem to be forgetting your manners. A navy man myself, I may have been away for sometime fighting in France, but since when it is the custom or the law of this land to question a lady about her husband’s business dealings?” Dwight knew full well that it could in fact happen if the deeds were suspected to be serious and criminal. 

_Just what had Ross done this time?_

“Furthermore, I cannot allow you to upset my patient. Your questioning would no doubt distress her and I do not want her distressed. What she suffers from might be... contagious and is best kept confined to these quarters.” At the mention of contagion, the man took a step back and Dwight, trying to hide the smirk on his own face, slipped back into the room.

Demelza rose from the bed and crept silently towards the door when Dwight reentered. She waited until they heard the clumping of the man’s boots on the stairs before she spoke again. Even then her voice was lowered and words hushed.

“Dwight...what you told him just now... I know bein’ a doctor, well t’isn’t the same as bein’ a priest but surely lyin’ isn’t part of your profession?”

“Forgive me, Demelza, but I did no such thing. I spoke in truth. I did not want you to be distressed, whether you are perilously ill or fair and fit. And well, you do suffer, that I know, even if your affliction is inward, and do not those around you suffer with you? I know Ross does. So, yes, it is contagious, is it not?” With that he smiled at her. 

It had been a long time since Demelza had experienced the ease of being in the company of a friend. For even if she considered Ross a friend, which at times she did, her relationship with him was never without its complications. Now in the presence of Dwight’s warm, genuine friendship, Demelza felt as though the face of cool control she’d struggled to maintain for weeks on end would come crumbling down forever. She caught herself and tried to lighten the conversation.

“But Dwight, why are you not at sea? Have you been discharged? Were you injured too?” she asked.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. But that is a long tale that is perhaps best told by Ross, who will no doubt tell it briefly, or Caroline, who has a much more embellished version.”

Demelza grabbed Dwight's hand in excitement. 

“Caroline? Oh Dwight…” She looked down at his left hand still clasped in hers and saw the gold band. “Really? Tis true?!” Now tears of joy and relief rolled down her cheeks. 

“Yes, Miss Caroline Penvenen is indeed now Mistress Caroline Enys,” he said proudly.

“Oh Dwight! I’m that glad!” she said and drew him to her in embrace again. 

Dwight was touched to see her so moved. He always found Demelza a remarkably generous woman and here she was, in a strange and dangerous predicament of her own, yet she remained concerned for his new happiness.

“But Dwight. What brings you up here to Banbury, of all places?” Demelza remembered to ask.

“I’m sent on a mission by Caroline. Her aunt’s _companion,_ Lord Alfred, took ill while traveling and so Caroline suggested I come to attend to him. He’s much recovered now, which is fortunate because I am most anxious to return to London.”

“To London?” Demelza asked, baffled.

“Yes, Caroline deemed my recuperation was too slow and I too brooding while in Cornwall. She was certain the gaiety of London might cheer me so we’ve been in London for the past few months.”

“And was she correct?” Demelza asked cautiously.

“Perhaps. But I suspect she grows impatient with me again and has taken to new scheming. Thus she sent me here. Indeed it feels good to attend to a patient but I’d prefer my services be put to better use, elsewhere,” he said. “That is, of course, until today. I’m always happy to serve you and Ross,” he added.

“The minin’ folk in Cornwall will surely be missin’ you, Dwight,” Demelza replied. She was correct that this was what he wanted to hear.

Dwight hated to leave her just then but thought he should make haste in seeking Ross out. It might just be possible to help him in whatever this new trouble was and Dwight felt assured that by doing so he would be serving Demelza as well.

*********  
It was hours before Ross returned to the room carrying a sleepy Jeremy in his arms. Demelza had changed into her night clothes but hadn’t lit a candle and was waiting anxiously in the dark. She quietly met them at the door and allowed Ross to lay Jeremy in the small bed. Kneeling beside the boy, she carefully undressed him, then gently rolled him on his side with expert hands; he fell asleep at once. 

“The excitement has worn him out,” Ross said in a low voice. “We supped with Dwight at the Golden Stag. But what about you?” Ross asked in concern.

“The poor girl who’s been tendin’ me brought me some soup but I’ve no appetite, Ross. I been that worried. Where’s Dwight now? Tell me all,” she pleaded.

“He’s back in his room at the Golden Stag for the night but he’ll be traveling with us to London tomorrow, in our coach.” 

“Oh Ross! I’m that glad!” she gasped. She knew Ross too would have been most pleased to see Dwight again. She paused to think of their good fortune. “And the soldiers? What be their aim in questionin’ you? Do they know about…” She couldn’t bring herself to say Macpherson’s name.

Ross had been undressing and stopped to face her. He hesitated to tell all but knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the truth from her. She was too perceptive.

“They know McNeil’s widow is gone and Macpherson is gone too. But they don’t seem to know he’s dead.”

“Oh Ross," she cried softly and sat on the bed. 

“They know little else. They think you and Macpherson are together. But I believe, and Dwight agrees with me, that we might just be in the clear.”

“You told Dwight…. all?” she asked him cautiously.

“Mostly all...” he said. “It was hard to find a quiet place to talk. But I doubt we were overheard in his room. Thankfully Jeremy was already nodding off by then.” Even in the dark he could read the worry on her face. 

“We needed a friend, Demelza. Forgive me.” He hoped she wouldn't see this is as the greatest violation of her slowly growing trust. He finished undressing and climbed into bed.

“What do you mean _mostly_?” she asked, getting in beside him. 

He paused.

“I told Dwight... it was I that killed Macpherson,” Ross said in a lower voice.

“Ross, you told him... you killed...? But why?” she asked incredulously.

“To protect you,” he said quickly. “And it seemed more plausible. You’ll recall I was a soldier years ago before I met you and I had killed plenty of men I’d never known. Since then... I've killed more.”

Good god, how horrific it sounded when he voiced it. He had long learned that to live with such a truth, it was best to rarely speak of it. And once a soldier, a man must always keep his violent side in check when not at war. Ross had mostly managed to do so but imagined it was hard for many men. Yes, war continues to destroy men and those who love them long after the battles are over.

“Oh Ross,” Demelza said softly and laid her head on the pillow. 

At that moment Ross didn’t want to think of Macpherson or war or violence. He felt overcome with relief--relief that Demelza was still safe and she was still with him. He pulled her close to him in the bed. 

He meant to gently stroke her cheek but once he looked into her shining eyes, the feeling of relief was recast as desperate need for her. He bent his head to kiss her but before he reached her, she moved to meet his lips with a hunger and determination of her own. 

She brought him closer, her fingers threaded through his hair, and pressed her mouth to his. There was nothing reserved or delicate in her kisses. They were firm, resolute, driven by passion. Spurred on by the low groans now escaping his open mouth, she tasted him again and again--his lips one at a time, his face, his neck.

He lifted her nightrail over her head and tossed it aside, then crossed his arms around her back. As he held her bare body fast to his, she gripped him with her sleek legs. One of his broad hands remained planted firmly between her shoulder blades, while the other traveled down to her buttock; he lifted her slightly so their hips were level.

They made love that night with considerable less concern for quiet than they had on previous nights. After a tense day of frustration and fear, the intensity of this pleasure caught them off guard. They could not contain their gasps and moans as they each sought much needed release. 

Afterwards, Demelza laid her cheek back on her pillow and closed her eyes. Ross assumed she was exhausted after such an exertion and was startled when a moment later she opened her eyes again and spoke.

“Ross.” 

She said only his name. Nothing more. But he heard a richness and a depth present in her tone that hadn’t been there before. 

He gave her face a gentle stroke with the back of his fingers then laid his head beside her. Looking into her eyes again, this time he did not try to disguise the tenderness he felt for her. 

“Demelza,” he whispered back.


	22. How the Tides Ebb and Flow

At many points in her life, Demelza had experienced sudden, wholly unexpected changes in her condition, stark contrasts from one day to the next. She had gone from abused, starved urchin to well-cared for, trusted servant. From illicit lover to legitimate wife of a gentleman. From Mistress Poldark, giver of charity to the local miners to Mistress Poldark, destitute neighbor saved from poverty by her own generous benefactress. And of course from cherished wife to broken-hearted woman on her own, first by Ross’s betrayal with another woman then by McNeil’s death. 

Nonetheless since arriving in London, Demelza found herself caught off guard by the sudden shift in their present day to day experience. The Poldarks were no longer weary travelers hiding among strangers, alone, scared, and fleeing the law. They were instead indulged in the sweet comforts both of a stylish London abode and the warmest, most reassuring friendship.

Demelza thought about her current good fortune while she sat before a glowing fire in the exquisite drawing room in Hatton Garden. A moment earlier she had been served a glass of port by a well-liveried and respectful footman. It would not be long until she enjoyed an elegant evening meal at a well-laid dining room table. She sipped her port and sighed contentedly. It had been a long time since she’d had any so fine.

They had arrived in London a few days before and were immediately welcomed at the home of Caroline’s aunt, where Caroline and Dwight had been staying since leaving Cornwall. It was a fashionable address and although with the arrival of the Poldarks it now housed six residents, not including servants, it was so spacious a place that presently Demelza found herself alone; she welcomed the peace.

Demelza had scarcely seen much of Jeremy since they arrived. At once the boy had charmed both Caroline’s maid, Rebecca, and her footman, Richard, and seemed to always be in their company. Caroline had instructed her servants to cater to all of Master Jeremy’s whims and they kept him entertained, fed, and thoroughly occupied from the moment he rose until he collapsed with exhaustion in the evening. Jeremy was pleased to stretch his limbs, finally freed from the confines of stuffy coaches and strange inns. He accompanied Richard on errands in the neighborhood, visited cook in the kitchen, and went on outings to the Gardens with Rebecca. He played endlessly below stairs with the cats and above stairs with Horace, Caroline’s dog. 

All the residents of the household were delighted by young Jeremy’s earnest manner. He asked serious questions and unreservedly expressed his joy at all the new discoveries around him. And he was much admired, especially by the ladies of the house, who thought he carried himself with his mother’s bright spirit and his father’s dark looks.

Ross and Dwight also spent a great deal of time together. Behind closed doors, they spoke of men they knew in common, politics, and the ongoing war with France. They had each experienced horrific moments in their active service and they relished having one another to confide in about the lingering effects, without distressing their wives. 

Demelza was glad for them both but was surprised to find herself feeling just a bit left out. For weeks on end, since they left the Highlands, it had been her and Ross, just the two of them, the closest of conspirators. So Ross confiding in Dwight and not her, was an appreciable change. Yet she knew there were aspects of a man’s friendship, especially among the fellowship of soldiers, she could not offer. And now more than ever she did feel assured of Ross’s esteem for her abilities and his trust in her judgement; she took heart in that. If she had thought further on this, she would have acknowledged that caring at all where Ross bestowed his attention or if he had need of her counsel, was another dramatic change in her life, a most marked shift since Ross had first ridden up to Achindall. 

Demelza’s musings were interrupted by Caroline’s graceful entrance into the drawing room. She crossed the room over to Demelza, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Then sitting beside her on the settee, Caroline clasped Demelza’s hand affectionately in hers.

“Demelza, how well you look! So many leave town and seek the fresh air of the country for their health but I do believe London may be improving yours.”

“I b’lieve you may be right. I dare say our spirits are much improved since arrivin’. Oh Caroline, we’re that grateful to you and Dwight.”

“We’re more than happy to have you as guests and hope you stay indefinitely.” 

With Jeremy, Ross, and Dwight occupied, it was understood Demelza and Caroline would entertain one another. When Demelza first met Caroline in Cornwall, she was unsure what to make of her. She had since seen her through Dwight’s love-hued lens, and decided that Caroline was a kind, generous woman and an exceptional judge of character. Now Demelza found she was happy and at ease in Caroline’s company. 

For reasons she couldn't quite name, Demelza felt she could be herself, genuine and unguarded, around Caroline. And Caroline, who had already admired Demelza, responded to her authenticity with increased warmth and affection.

“Enjoy your port, my dear. We must be merry at table for our men when they emerge from their solemn conclave, to counter their gravity,” Caroline laughed. 

Demelza wondered if Caroline was really teasing or if there was perhaps a hint of worry she detected in Caroline’s voice. Dwight had indeed changed since returning from France, Demelza could see that, but surely in time he’d recover his health and vibrancy. Demelza hoped all was well with the newlyweds but knew that even when two people loved each other, the very circumstances of day to day life could bring many complications.

“Caroline, I suspicion Dwight is always happy when he sees you,” Demelza assured her, squeezing her hand in return.

This evening Caroline’s aunt had accepted an invitation to dine with a friend so the four of them supped alone. They were a lighthearted party, though perhaps Caroline and Ross were the most comfortable expressing their boisterous spirits, while Demelza and Dwight were content watching and listening, appreciating the warm atmosphere of the scene. 

They had finished their meal and were moving to the drawing room when Caroline recalled a piece of news she was keen to share.

“Ross, did Dwight not tell you? We entertained Lord Falmouth here last month,” Caroline said to him with an eager smile, confident Ross would no doubt be interested by such news.

“Lord Falmouth?” Ross cocked a brow; he was intrigued.

“Surprising, is it not? He is very little more sociable here than in Cornwall,” Caroline answered.

“Who is…?” began Demelza earnestly.

“Lord Falmouth is from Cornwall, a Boscawen. You may recall his estate, Tregothnan, ” Dwight explained.

“An influential man with a long arm,” said Caroline.

“And outdated beliefs about equality and the common man,” said Ross crisply.

“He b’lieves in it?” asked Demelza.

“No, he does not,” said Ross.

“And perhaps most importantly, he is a man who now is much indebted to your brave husband," Caroline said to Demelza. “When Ross saved Dwight from Quimper prison in France, he also unwittingly rescued a young Lieutenant Armitage, who just happens to be Lord Falmouth’s nephew.” 

“Ross?” Demelza’s eyes lit up too. She had heard the story of the heroic rescue led by Ross in small bits since they had first seen Dwight again in Banbury. Ross was reluctant to give too many details but Caroline thought it only proper that Demelza know how much she and Dwight were forever beholden to Ross. Demelza hadn’t realized until now that the impact of his actions were felt outside the Enys family as well.

Ross nodded but declined to say more. 

“Lord Falmouth asked we send his regards when we saw you next, Ross,” Caroline added. “He was here seeking medical advice for his poor nephew.” 

“From you, Dwight? Is he unwell?” Ross asked, concerned.

“No, not from me. From a renowned expert. Armitage’s sight is failing and...I’m afraid it might be worse. I can’t say more...” Dwight said gravely.

“You can’t say more or you won’t?” asked Ross.

“I won’t.”

“What a shame. To be saved from one hellish misery only to die anyway just months later…” Caroline lamented.

Dwight cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Well, I suppose he can die peacefully now with his loved ones, on his own soil. That must mean somethin’,” Demelza chimed in.

“Considering you have never met Armitage, you do seem to understand him well, Demelza,” Ross said. She blushed not knowing if Ross was being sarcastic or paying her a sincere compliment. 

“Ross, I advise you to keep your pretty wife away from our young lieutenant. Even if his sight is failing and he couldn’t see her beauty, he’d no doubt still sense her sympathetic nature,” Caroline teased. 

Demelza had come to accept Caroline’s wit and playful banter and so she did not mind such a joke from her; Caroline seemed to tease everyone equally. Demelza doubted this last remark revealed any knowledge of McNeil’s real pursuit of her or of any past infidelity in the Poldark’s marriage. 

“When we are back in Cornwall, we must pay him a call,” Ross said. He didn't sound as though he was enthusiastic, just wishing to attend to a social duty.

“Yes, Ross,” Demelza said simply.  
It occurred to her that they soon would be exchanging one sort of burden-- finding food and shelter, surviving the immediate moment without undue attention from strangers-- for another one, complicated in a different way. One with concern for political influences, neighbors jockeying for status, renewed social and economic rivalries. She sighed, suddenly fatigued by the prospect.

After more talk around the pleasant fire, Demelza politely excused herself from an invitation to play cards and announced she was retiring for the night. She gave Ross the slightest sidewise glance as she exited the drawing room. 

Caroline observed Ross’s eyes fixed on Demelza as she swept out of the room.

“Are you not going to join your wife? I believe she beckons you,” Caroline asked, raising her glass to her lips. 

“I believe she might be,” said Ross. And with that he put down his empty glass and followed Demelza upstairs to their chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dearest reader, I can swear that the timeline of most of the events in this story “fit” according to what Winston Graham lays out, but please don’t probe too deep into _exactly_ when Dwight was rescued from Quimper in this tale (and how Ross did it while simultaneously serving his regiment). I’m sure there is perfectly acceptable explanation (another story perhaps with an officer gone rogue and lots of derring-do?). But I couldn’t leave Dwight languishing in France...I just couldn’t.


	23. What the Heart Desires

Another change that Ross and Demelza found while they were in London was their lovemaking became decidedly less inhibited. It helped that they had a room to themselves and need not worry about waking Jeremy. The monotony of inns and coaches and worry was ended, or at least suspended, and the relief they felt was another factor that seemed to liberate their passion. 

They spent time abed together in the mornings and evenings, but sometimes in the afternoons as well. They had never made love leisurely throughout the day back at Nampara, for leisure was something neither of them had ever had nor sought. 

“Is this what it feels like to be a rich lady? Lyin’ abed lazily with her lovers all day?” Demelza asked Ross one morning as they laid in the soft bed preparing to rise.

“Well I do hope you’ve only the one lover,” said Ross. “Perhaps if you are feeling too idle I’d better occupy your attention more fully,” he teased and reached for her bare thighs. He crawled up her slowly, like a predator, then settled his mouth on her neck. 

She let out a lighthearted laugh followed quickly by a low moan as she felt his bare body press into hers.

“Ross, we should be risin’,” she said softly, though she didn’t sound very convincing. She reluctantly reached for the underthings she had cast aside the night before.

“I suppose I should be more ashamed of my wardrobe among all this London finery but I’m just that relieved to be in warm company to care,” she said, beginning to pull her shift over her head.

“What if I told you it was my intention to keep you undressed as much as possible while we are here?” he replied, taking the shift from her and tossing it back to the floor.

“I know there are new manners in London that we country folk will never understand but I doubt Caroline would be much pleased if I be naked at her dining table. Tho’ maybe her aunt’s gentlemen friend might like that…” Demelza quipped back.

“That will never happen,” Ross said quickly.

“Oh, are you intending to starve me, Ross?” she laughed.

Ross looked at her with his dark, serious eyes and gently pushed the hair back from her face. She resisted the urge to pull away from such an intense gaze and felt her body tighten.

“No, Demelza. You should always have whatever you want,” he said to her in a low voice. 

To speak of wanting for food seemed too close to their past reality, a time when Demelza had seen to collecting stores of food and went out to sea for fish so they’d all be fed. Ross couldn’t bear to think of her putting herself at physical risk or suffering again as a result of his own failure to better provide. He lifted her hand and gave it a soft kiss.

Demelza, seeing Ross was growing solemn and fearing where it might lead him, reached over and pinched his buttock to signal what it was she wanted. 

It worked. He laughed heartily then pinched her back. It was another hour before they left the bed.

********

“Caroline,“ Ross said. “I have the greatest favor to ask of you.” They were alone in the dining room awaiting Dwight and Demelza’s arrival for their midday meal.

“My family is forever indebted to you, dear Ross, and you know I’d be most obliged to anything you ask. But now that your pretty wife is back at your side I suspect your greatest needs are being met and I doubt your request is what one might have in mind,” she teased. 

Ross felt color come to his face but smiled to show he appreciated the spirited flirtation.

“It is exactly concerning my wife,” he replied.

“Has she misbehaved? I should like to take lessons from her,” she said slyly.

“No,” Ross began again. “She is in need of….”

“Are you not sufficiently seeing to her needs? Keeping a woman content is most assuredly your expertise, is it not, Major Poldark? I have yet to know for sure.”

“I’d like you to take her shopping,” Ross laughed. He was glad to cut her off before she went too far in her innuendo. Would she dare to continue this repartee if Demelza or Dwight were in the room? Ross wasn’t sure. “Demelza’s travel wardrobe need refreshing,” he added.

“Are you not worried she will be too widely admired by the handsome gentlemen of London? A woman like Demelza could wear a sackcloth and look beautiful,” Caroline said. “Or wear nothing at all.” 

“I agree but it is to lift her spirits that I seek to replenish her wardrobe.”

“Lift her spirits or assuage some guilt on your part, Ross?” she raised an eyebrow. “For leaving her alone while you rejoined your regiment,” she added quickly. “I'd be happy to take her to my favorite dressmaker and if by shopping I am performing a service to others, then I beg you by all means please do not deny me my Christian duties."

“And I thank you,” Ross said.

“Would a new gown for Demelza mean you both will come to the theatre with my aunt and I? Perhaps even tonight?”

“I’m afraid Demelza wants to stay with Jeremy tonight. She feels she has been too long separated from him these past few days,” Ross explained.

“And you?”

“I prefer to stay with her,” he said.

“As I’d expect. You feel too long separated as well?” she asked sincerely. And with this last question Caroline abandoned her flirtatious tone. She looked at him with the sympathetic eyes of one who also understood the pain of being long separated from a beloved.

 

*****

The next day, as promised, Caroline brought Demelza to Mrs. Phillips, her favourite dressmaker in London. They took chairs to an elegant salon where Caroline’s status as a valued and longstanding client meant they were most attentively served. To Caroline’s disappointment, Demelza politely rejected options that were too elaborate or too revealing.

“T’is different for you. Caroline, with two or three maids to dress you. I must stay simple, I daren’t trust Prudie to pin my stomacher. Not with such long pins!” 

In the end she chose a blue dress for evening and a green one for day, as well as a new coat for traveling. Caroline had hoped for something more extravagant but reluctantly approved of Demelza’s new wardrobe. Mrs. Phillips had many gowns half made that they could be fitted and finished quickly so Demelza need not wait more than a few days for her new things to be delivered.

“Folks in London don’t seem to have much patience, do they?” Demelza laughed. 

“And my dear, you must also have a new hat,” Caroline ordered, leading Demelza down the street to her favorite milliner. The hats Caroline and the fine ladies of London wore seemed so over-sized and ostentatious to Demelza. She wasn’t sure how she’d be able to find something more suited to her own taste and lifestyle without offending Caroline.

But exactly what her lifestyle was now, Demelza couldn’t say. She still resisted thinking of Nampara for she truly knew not what to expect once they returned. Yet she knew they couldn’t stay forever in London. She stood in the shop, frozen, biting her lip.

Caroline read her distress and helped Demelza choose a lovely fine straw with a broad ribbon of black and green stripes around the crown. Its brim was wider than any she’d had before but not so large that she’d incommode a fellow passenger seated next to her on a coach.

At the end of their excursion, both women were satisfied and had grown closer still. They continued their conversation once they were returned in Hatton Garden.

“You know my dear, Dwight has missed you and Ross terribly. I believe when you are back at Nampara, Dwight will be ready to return to Killewaren.”

“Did Dwight not want to come to London?” Demelza asked cautiously. She did not want to pry but sensed Caroline was looking to unburden some worries she had about Dwight.

“No, he was in favor of it, though it was my proposal,” she twisted her handkerchief in her hands and paused for a moment. “Poor Dwight. After his ordeal as a prisoner of the French he is healed in body but he can't quite settle, not even back in Cornwall. Of course here I'd expect him to be restless so at least it feels less conspicuous for him.”

“Give him time, Caroline. Surely he’ll regain his spirits,” Demelza offered gently.

“Could it be the company he’s keeping? Perhaps my aunt and I are too dull, for when Ross stayed with us here last I thought I saw some improvement in Dwight.”

“Ross? Came to you here, in London?” Demelza asked incredulously. 

“Does that surprise you, my dear?” Caroline was curious.

“No. For almost two years Ross has been a soldier with his only allegiance to the crown. In truth where he goes and when, has not been knowledge I’ve been privy to,” Demelza replied hoping she sounded polite and not bitter.

“Ross stayed for almost a full fortnight in early February. At least I think it was the same man, he seems so much more alive now that he is reunited with his family.” Caroline’s last comment made Demelza flush with slight embarrassment. 

So Ross had been to see the Enyses since leaving the army. Demelza did not know what to make of this. 

_How much do they know about McNeil? And Elizabeth? Did they know of that as well?_

Demelza wondered if Ross had confided in them his plans to seek Demelza in Scotland. Would they have warned him against such a folly or encouraged him? She could not say. She exhaled deeply and tried to regain her composure.

“And you? How do you feel about returnin’ to Cornwall?” Demelza asked, trying to redirect the conversation before Caroline asked more questions of her.

“I’m happy to be wherever Dwight is. But I do find it a trial at times to follow him into some circles. Dwight’s a gentleman so he fits in with genteel society but seems equally at ease with the village folk too.”

_He’s like Ross,_ thought Demelza.

“And you? Are you not at ease?” asked Demelza.

“They don't really accept me and I must in truth admit I haven't tried hard enough. But they are Dwight’s patients and in future, for him, I must better play the role of a country doctor’s wife.” 

When she turned to face Demelza and took her hand in hers, Demelza saw the beginning of tears glistening in Caroline’s eyes. She squeezed Caroline’s hand sympathetically.

“My dear Demelza, I believe that if we were to return now, with you as neighbors, Dwight would finally, well... heal completely. Find the peace he needs. It’s not enough to have the body returned without the heart,” Caroline said.

“No, no t’isnt,” Demelza agreed softly. 

They sat together silently for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts until they were interrupted by a servant bringing tea.

“I don't presume to know where you’ve been but I imagine you must be eager to see your beloved Cornwall again, my dear,” Caroline said to her, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes! I do miss the sea! The shells, the tide pools, the cries of the gulls and the sound of the swells, the smells of the salt air…” Demelza beamed. 

“But not the pilchards,” Caroline laughed.

“Oh maybe even those...” Demelza thought fondly of all her quiet walks alone on Hendrawna Beach, first as a girl and then as a young wife. The satisfying feeling of finding good driftwood, the hollow thud it made when she stacked it in her arms. Poor man’s fuel. It had been driftwood she had been gathering when McNeil had first come upon her alone. 

“Of course riding on the beach is quite exhilarating,” Caroline recalled.

“And walkin’. Oh, the feel of the sand on one’s feet!” Demelza added, then checked her excitement. “Goodness me, you’d think I had an idle life by the sea to hear me talk.”

They laughed together and looked up to see Dwight and Ross enter the room just then. 

“Look Demelza, such a treat. Our husbands grace us with their presence. How fortunate we are now,” Caroline quipped, giving a sly look to Dwight and Ross.

“And ladies, was your shopping fruitful?” Ross asked them.

“Your wife is a prudent woman, Ross, and would indulge few of my whims to dress her in the latest London fashions. Still I believe you will be pleased,” Caroline said to him.

“I’m sure I shall,” he said, his eyes trained on Demelza who at once lowered her gaze, embarrassed that both Ross and Caroline were talking about her.

Ross watched his wife as she sat beside the lovely Caroline and again thought how fortunate he was. Certainly he’d met women more beautiful than Demelza or more kind or even more stoic in the face of disappointment. But to Ross it was remarkable that Demelza possessed all these qualities and more, like a many faceted gem. Perhaps that was why she shone in so many different situations. Now she was daintily perched on a chintz settee in a fine London drawing room, looking just as much at home here as she did on a rough bench drinking ale in the merry inn at Abington.

But Ross felt his heart grow heavy thinking of the last words she had said as he and Dwight had interrupted her with Caroline. No, indeed, she had never had an idle life. 

_Is that what drove her away?_

Later in their room when they were alone, Ross longed to tell Demelza of his appreciation for her but suspected she would not be receptive to such words from him now. He did, however, revisit what Demelza had spoken earlier.

“Demelza, I’ve been thinking about what you said today to Caroline, that you never had time to be idle in Cornwall. I see now how overworked you were. I want you to know, when we return to Nampara we will engage more servants. We can afford it,” he said solemnly.

She looked at him, her brows knit in concern. “Oh Ross, don’t you know? T’was never the work I minded,” she said softly. “The garden, the farm, the house, the children…” she paused. “Even the worry of the mines. Never.” 

He looked away in shame. He should know better than to believe he could buy his way back into her good graces.


	24. A Heart Cast Aside and Lost Evermore

While Ross and Demelza remained in London, their relationship as lovers continued to evolve. At first they found their daytime trysts were more playful than their nights at the inns; they were infused with teasing conversation and even laughter. Now their lovemaking took a new turn and grew intense, feverish, at times almost desperate. On more than one occasion their physical desire for each other was so great they hardly made it to the bed. 

But more than ever Ross sensed he was searching for something not found and a now-familiar loneliness followed each time he was intimate with Demelza. His need for her was terrible yet he dreaded being so unsettled afterwards. He felt he could no longer endure the hopelessness.

So after one afternoon of pleasure as they laid in the bed together, Ross was compelled to push the boundaries of their sexual companionship. 

Demelza was resting on her side and sighing heavily, trying to regain her composure after this last passionate exertion. 

With firm hands, Ross suddenly turned her towards him then stroked her cheek, searching her face and gazing desperately into her blue-green eyes. She was surprised by this move which seemed to violate the terms they had come to since their first night together in Abington, terms unspoken but agreed upon nonetheless.

“Demelza?” he said. He wanted to shake her but resisted the urge, knowing he must remain gentle. 

She stared back uncertainly.

“Demelza? My love? Demelza, my Demelza... Can your heart… Can you not love me again? Can you not ever... forgive?” he sputtered.

Ross first registered the fear in her eyes at this confrontation. Fear that gave way to a flash of sadness. And then... nothing. Her expression grew distant, blank, as though she had shut herself off from him entirely; she would not let him see into her soul.

He could not bear it. 

He clutched her around her waist and buried his face into her naked belly. He stayed there, saying no more for a few moments, and then he silently wept. He wept for the loss that he had to face. Loss of love, loss of hope. He could no longer pretend that if he just waited patiently their old love would return. His face hidden deep in her flesh, he felt his cool tears hit her warm skin, then pool around his cheek. Being so close to her, being _allowed_ so close to her body but held back from the one thing he truly wanted, felt like the greatest irony, the most bitter insult-- and a mortal wound.

“Ross,” she said, then was silent for a few moments before she spoke again. She put her hand to his head and stroked his hair as one might soothe a petulant child or calm an anxious pet, gentle but detached.

“Oh Ross,” she said at last. “I do wish there was somethin’ I could say to comfort you. But to forgive, one needs her heart. T’isnt that I can’t let go of past hurts, it’s just I cannot speak for my heart. T’was lost to me years ago and try as I might, I can’t seem to get it back.” The sorrow that came from her was unmistakable.

He looked up at in her eyes and saw she had spoken the truth to him. It wasn’t hatred, hurt, or anger that caused her to hold back her love. Something had broken in her and as much as it pained him, it grieved her too that she was unable to mend it. To Ross, it was a bitter comfort.

Ross said no more but moved his head up from her body to the pillow next to hers. He stroked her face once more, as though saying goodbye, then closed his eyes letting sleep take him.

Demelza blinked back the tears. It took her longer but eventually after many anguished moments alone with a pain deep in her gut, she too fell asleep. But before she did, she felt just a flicker of desire that she’d never awake again.

*****

When Demelza woke she was alone; the room had grown dark and cold. There was no trace of Ross and the fire was nearly out. She found she missed Jeremy unbearably and dressed quickly in order to search him out.


	25. A Temporary Interlude Not Meant to Last

Caroline finally got her way and the next week was a whirl of social engagements. There were two dinners held at the house in Hatton Garden, a party with dancing at an acquaintance of her aunt’s, a night of theater viewed from a box at Drury Lane, as well as daytime trips to the Thames and Vauxhall Gardens.

Ross and Demelza both welcomed the diversions. After Ross had begged for the forgiveness Demelza could not grant him, there had been an uneasiness between them. They remained lighthearted and pleasant in the company of others, but felt a cooling between them when alone. And so they were relieved then to return home late in the night after such excursions, exhausted and ready for sleep with no expectations to be intimate. The few times they did make love, it felt as though they had taken a few steps backward. When they reached for each other it was again as strangers, not as familiar companions.

And curiously, as Ross and Demelza seemed to be losing any ground that had been gained between them, Caroline turned to them each more and more for advice on her own relationship with Dwight, as though they were trusted experts in the art of marriage.

“I believe to make Dwight happy, I must endeavour to be a better person, for his sake,” Caroline announced to Demelza as they strolled along the promenade at Vauxhall.

“Surely, Caroline, t’isnt necessary. Can you not see your own goodness? I know Dwight does,” Demelza reassured her. “And t’isnt goodness that makes us love a body,” she mused. “Or else no one bad would ever be loved. And we know too well, do we not, t'isnt the case? Is history not filled with bad men who were loved hard and loved long?”

Caroline looked at her, taking in all she had to say.

“No, we love where the heart tells us to love. And it don’t follow reason, do it?” Demelza smiled. 

_No, surely it don’t,_ she thought, looking forward down the path at Ross.

The next night they entertained a larger than usual crowd for dinner at home. Caroline’s aunt had invited two friends she had known for some time, sisters-- one a recent widow and another a devout spinster. To balance out the youth and vitality, Caroline had also asked Colonel Fairfax and his new young wife. They were neighbors who had taken residence nearby for the winter and would soon be returning to their country home near Winchester. 

Dwight sensing Demelza’s almost imperceptible nerves at a new social grouping, asked if he might accompany her into dinner. As Dwight and Demelza walked on ahead, Caroline took Ross by the arm. 

“Look how enthralled Colonel Fairfax is by his new bride. He has eyes for no one else. I don’t understand... Dwight is safely returned to his wife and home. Why is that not enough for him?” she implored of Ross.

Ross saw the desperation in her eyes and stopped her before they entered the lively dining room bustling with guests.

“Give him more time, Caroline. What Dwight is battling is not something a wife nor a home can immediately remedy,” Ross began gently. “But believe me, comfort and love will help, over time.” He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips with a gentle kiss.

“But why does he push me away?” she asked, near to tears.

“I cannot speak for Dwight, for none of us can truly know what another feels. But I can say, from experience, that sometimes when we are most at war with ourselves, we push away those who love us best. We cannot forgive them, for we see they are complicit in our failings by simply staying by us.”

Caroline offered him a weak smile then clasped his arm tightly.

“Maybe you and I both need to learn the art of patience. It doesn’t come easy, does it?”

“No, it’s been a struggle for me my whole life,” Ross laughed softly.

“Well Ross, it looks as though you are to be my dinner companion this evening since your wife and my husband seem otherwise engaged,” she said. “They are alike in many ways, Demelza and Dwight. Are they not? I imagine Demelza has her own healing ways too.”

*****

“We will surely be sorry when you and Ross leave,” Dwight said to Demelza after dinner. The others had made their way to the drawing room but Demelza and Dwight found themselves alone in the splendid but quiet hall and paused to continue their conversation. 

“But we can look forward to reunitin’ soon…” she began. She detected something troubling in Dwight’s voice.

“Yes, in Cornwall, soon. Demelza, I…” he stopped not sure if he should venture further. “You should know Ross has told me everything. Ross does know he is a most fortunate man to have you as his wife. As friend to you both, for both your sakes, I'm so very glad you chose to go back to Cornwall with him.” He looked at her with earnest eyes. 

There was something she needed to know and took the chance that Dwight would be honest with her. 

“Dwight, was it you that told him to go find me?” she asked. “When Ross came to see you this winter?”

“No, my dear Demelza. That was his decision alone but one that I whole heartedly supported.”

“Oh, Dwight. We are most fortunate to count you and Caroline as friends. T’is a blessin’.” She smiled at him, hoping she could convey how appreciative she was of his gentle support. 

Dwight smiled back then led her on to join the others. 

Demelza entered the lively room and sat beside Caroline’s aunt on the settee. One of the elderly ladies was relating a tumultuous story of love and lust and mistaken identity. It took Demelza a moment to understand the woman was recounting a play she had seen recently and not gossiping about the neighbors. The other ladies seated nearby were enraptured as the woman continued her tale.

But Demelza found she was not listening to her nor to the other conversations going on around her; she was reflecting on Dwight’s words. 

Had she really _chosen_ to go back to Nampara with Ross or had it all just been left to circumstance? Yes, if she were honest with herself she’d admit she knew what she was doing when they left Achindall. There had been other options, admittedly few, but some all the same. She had chosen to go with Ross and must live up to that choice.

Without realizing it, Demelza sighed aloud, then became aware again of her surroundings. 

At that moment a peal of laughter from Caroline followed by Ross’s warm baritone chuckle drifted across the room. They were standing next to the fire, full glasses in hand, enjoying themselves freely. Demelza observed Ross’s carefree state with Caroline that evening and again felt that same flutter of envy she had experienced the previous week, when he had sought out more of Dwight’s company and less of hers. 

_Of course he is not so light hearted with me. I am his torment_ , she thought to herself. Demelza felt her face fall and suddenly unsure she’d be able to maintain the gay facade required in such company, quickly excused herself. Caroline’s aunt nodded graciously then turned her attention back to her friend beside her.

Once upstairs, Demelza first stopped at Jeremy’s room. The room was dark but a bit of moonlight shone in through the window illuminating the gleaming white sheets on his bed. She softly knelt beside him and smoothed his hair. It was damp around his forehead, no doubt from his great exertions during the day. 

“My dear boy,” she said. She pressed her lips gently to his head, careful not to wake him, then held her hand to his heart. His chest moved up and down in his clean nightshirt. He was well taken care of by the servants here and yet she felt she had neglected him greatly these past two weeks. She thought about getting in next to him but again was afraid of disturbing his sweet sleep. She looked at him for some time with quiet tears, then reluctantly left him alone.

Once she was in her own room her tears came freely. She undressed carelessly and pulled on her nightrail. When she slipped under the covers, she tried to keep her distance from the other side of the bed where she knew the pillow would smell like Ross.

She laid in the dark for some time, hoping sleep would come soon, but it did not. She did not want Ross to see her in such a distraught state for she had no words to explain it. She was just convincing herself that surely he’d remain downstairs with the jolly company for hours when he gingerly opened the door.

She swallowed a sob that sounded like a low gasp as he entered. 

“Demelza, did I wake you?” he whispered.

“No, Ross. I be awake still.” 

Ross began to disrobe and climbed in next to her. She held her breath.

“You went to bed early. Are you unwell?“ he asked.

She did not answer and turned her face deeper into her pillow.

“Demelza?” He looked at her and saw her shoulders quiver. He touched her lightly and when she turned to him, he saw the silent tears streaming down her face. He was surprised to see her cry openly. He did not like to see her weep but thought perhaps it was not an ill development after all. If she was unhappy, were it not better she express it?

“I’m just weary, Ross,” she tried to explain.

“Then you must rest,” he said. “I’ll leave you be, my dear.” He kissed her head lightly and signaled he no other expectations of her in their shared bed that night.

“No, Ross. I’m weary of traveling. Can we not leave now?”

“Demelza, you make no sense. You say you are weary of traveling, then you say you wish to leave at once?“ Now he did not know what to make of her.

She turned away from him in disappointment. She had thought he’d understand what she meant. The chasm that had opened between them days earlier seemed even wider now. She let out a sigh of exhaustion but also despair. 

“Demelza?” he asked and sat up in bed to look at her.

“Yes, Ross?” she said softly. Her voice betrayed so many notes in so few words.

“Do wish to return to Cornwall?”

“To Nampara, Ross.”

She said no more but he felt her suppress a sob as she lay next to him. He didn't know what to make of this sudden outpouring of sorrow and could only think to gently rub her back. He mulled over what she had said for a few minutes, then spoke.

“I had been waiting to hear from our contacts…to see if there was a chance of further questioning about this whole... Macpherson affair. But I suppose no word is a good sign. We can leave at once, Demelza, if you are up to it.”

“I am, Ross,” she said, squeezing her eyes tight to conceal more tears. 

Now her tears were too much for him. He reached for her and she allowed him to take her in his embrace; it was first time she had welcomed his arms around her except in passion. He laced his fingers through hers, hoping she would receive what he did not think she’d allow him to say in words.

They stayed like that for some time, her head on his chest, his strong arms wrapped around her, until finally Demelza fell asleep.

 

*****

Before the Poldarks left London, Ross and Dwight had many more consultations behind closed doors. Dwight, as a fellow soldier, a gentleman, and a friend made an ideal confidante for Ross in such a complicated predicament.

“I made some discreet inquiries, Ross. It wasn’t easy as I had to rely on Caroline’s contacts without telling her why,” Dwight told him.

“And you did not?” Ross asked.

“Tell her? No, I did not. It was not my tale to tell. Caroline would of course be understanding but it might well, triple the esteem she holds for you, Ross, if she hears of the yet another heroic act,” Dwight said.

“There was little heroic about the whole cursed affair, I assure you, Dwight. I wish to god it had never happened,” Ross grumbled. “And what did you learn?” 

“Nothing. I mean there is no news to indicate cause for further worry. Captain Copeland has not ventured south of Banbury and there is no indication that any authorities wish to speak to Major Poldark or his wife,” Dwight told him. “That is most likely the end of this, as long as they do not... find a body,” Dwight cautiously added.

Dwight bit his lip and looked at Ross, who was staring into his brandy deep in thought, and decided to continue. 

“Ross, I see it had to be this way but have you some slight regret that this dead man’s family has no answers? No body to bury?” Dwight asked him.

“I would if he had been an honorable man. But one who preys on the weak? Who thinks any woman is his for the taking? It was good he was stopped, for all concerned. Demelza happened to be alone when he came but what if her servant had returned? What violence would he have offered her as well? And my son? Would he have killed him?” Ross was getting agitated again just thinking of this man.

“Demelza was alone? I thought you were with her when he…” Dwight asked, trying to piece Ross’s narrative together.

“She was alone with him when I came upon them...before he was able to…” Ross did not finish his sentence. He had spoken quickly but the flicker of hesitation was enough for Dwight to fathom there was more to this story than what Ross had shared. Dwight decided to ask no more questions. It was better that he knew less.

“But it may be that you are right. Perhaps we were too hasty in disposing of him the way we did,” Ross said. “I am an officer in his Majesty’s Army. While there might have been a trial, under the circumstances, protecting my own wife, I’d most likely be acquitted. Even as an outsider in Scotland, far from my own peers.”

“But it would have been a risk,” Dwight reminded him. “And could you or Demelza really endure another trial with your very life at stake?”

Now Ross knew Dwight was right. He did not say it aloud but he could never let Demelza go through such an ordeal again. He hoped Dwight’s information was reliable and that by leaving London he was not walking his head into a noose.

*****

Ross entered the bedroom hoping to see Demelza but she was not to be found. Earlier she had gently broken the news to Jeremy that they’d soon be leaving this most entertaining household and resuming their tedious travels and as they both expected, the boy was not delighted by this announcement. Demelza did not like to see her son distressed and was most likely consoling him in his room. 

Ross recognized the pattern now. When he pushed the fragile boundaries between them beyond her comfort and got too close, she’d pull away from Ross and turn her full attention to their son. She might have claimed she could no longer feel her heart but Ross, witnessing her unmistakable love for Jeremy, saw her capacity to give love was not diminished. Demelza’s heart was not lost to her or anyone else, just to Ross.

Ross sighed and breathed deeply trying to gather his thoughts while alone. As he inhaled, he caught the sweet smell from the large vase near the window. Since they arrived, Caroline saw that her maid regularly put an arrangement of fresh blooms in their chamber. Whether Caroline knew how much Demelza adored flowers Ross couldn’t say, but they did bring Demelza noticeable delight. 

_Must everything make me think of her?_

Ross didn’t recall seeing any flowers in Demelza’s house in Achindall but he supposed they were out of season in early March in a colder clime. And yet at Nampara she had always found a way of bringing life indoors, even in winter--rowan, bay, rosemary, holly leaves. These London flowers were surely from a hothouse, beautiful but cultivated for a purpose, and at a cost. Now unsettled, Ross found the scent of the Jessamine and Woodbine overwhelming.

_This whole diversion to London has been like a hothouse flower,_ he thought. _Merely a temporary interlude meant to bring momentary pleasure that can't last._

What would happen when he took Demelza back to Cornwall and they tried to restart their life there? He could not bear to think of her withering where she once had so thrived.

_It would be my fault, and mine alone_ , he thought.


	26. The Journey Continues

The roads from London were in terrible shape that spring. It seemed to Demelza that it took forever just to get out of London and the further they moved from Caroline’s fashionable neighborhood, the dirtier and more forlorn things looked outside the coach window. They lumbered past dumps of refuse, lime kilns, and smoking brick fields. Demelza had never seen so much smog and smoke; it obscured their view for most of their journey out of the city. At last they reached the countryside again where the scenery improved but not the roads. The coach lurched and bumped jarringly over the deep ruts left behind by a savage winter.

And so it began again for them. The constant march, days on end, traveling towards Cornwall. The journey from London to Truro promised to be far shorter than what they had done previously, but still felt endless.

Now Jeremy regularly dozed in the coach during the day and was restless at night. On more than one occasion Ross and Demelza put him between them in their bed to help him to settle. It reminded Ross of the night they all shared the sagging bed while fleeing the Highlands. Jeremy was again a physical barrier between them but also an emotional link. Caring for Jeremy was their common purpose and he and Demelza both found attending to that duty was less complicated than attending to their own fragile relationship.

Demelza tried to be brave but somewhere between Liskeard and Lostwithiel, the violent lurching, the crowded coach interior, and the stale air grew too much for her. She fought wave after wave of nausea before she finally fell asleep against the side wall of the coach.

Ross peered at her dozing under her new hat, relieved that she found some peace. But then he turned his face away and tried to look straight ahead. Since their conversation in London about her inability to love, he knew he must endeavor to build a protective wall around his own heart.

 _Good god, what are we returning to?_

Perhaps his neck would still end up in the noose for Macpherson’s death. Would she finally then understand how much she meant to him? How deep his love was? No, she'd just dismiss his taking the blame as another reckless escapade, just like riding off to war, or wrecking a ship for the village folk. He was resigned they’d never see eye to eye on his impulses.

*********  
Demelza was walking contentedly along the path from Mellin towards Wheal Grace, the afternoon sunshine warming her face. When she reached the top of the hill she stopped to pluck some ripe blackberries. She could taste their jammy sweetness when she put two of them in her mouth. She picked more, holding them in her cupped palm. Suddenly fear rose in her belly and she looked behind her. The children...she had been walking with them...where had they gone? Where were Julia and Jeremy? She must have let go of them to pick the berries. She looked down at her own hands, now covered in the dark red flesh of the berries she’d crushed in them. She stood paralysed looking at her red stained hands but she had to find her children. Where had they gone? She spun around again and spied Jeremy, standing alone by the cliff’s edge…

“Jeremy!” she gasped aloud. She woke as the coach jerked forward on the uneven road to Lostwithiel.

“He’s here, my love,“ Ross said softly. In all their years together he’d never known Demelza to have violent dreams, and yet in the past few weeks she’d had several. His resolve to pull away from her melted and he held her arm as she took deep breaths. Looking into her face he saw more than just fear and start; hers was now a physical distress. Her face had taken on a greenish tinge and he saw her belly was quivering when she put her hand to it.

He wasted no time and rapped on the ceiling to signal the driver. He pounded again impatiently and within a moment the coach lurched to a stop. 

Demelza was able to exit quickly and move discreetly to the side of the road before she emptied the contents of her stomach in the ditch. Ross followed her, full of care and concern. Again and again she retched until no more would come. She crouched warily then wiped her mouth with the handkerchief Ross offered her.

“Oh Ross, I’m ashamed,” she said, pushing a few stray curls back from her damp forehead under her brim and trying to stand. He took her hand and helped her to her feet.

“If that shames you then you need to spend more time in the company of drunken soldiers where it is a twice daily ritual. Then again, I’d prefer you not spend more time in the company of soldiers, drunken or otherwise…” he said in an attempt to make her laugh.

“Oh Ross, what will folks think?” She nodded towards the coach. “That... I'm that coarse and that simple…” she said softly. 

He could see the physical and emotional distress as she looked up at him with her searching blue eyes. He couldn't fathom her sudden concern for propriety and how others might see her. He saw no evidence of such worries during their travels out of Scotland and none in London where they had mixed with decidedly more elite society. He hoped it wasn’t Cornwall that brought out her insecurities.

“Good god no, they are too in awe of your fine hat. They could look at nothing else while you were asleep,” he said trying to lighten her mood and reassure her in the face of these strangers. “They think you a fashionable lady with exquisite London taste, Demelza. Next they'd be sick in the ditches too if they thought it the mode.” She sighed and smiled, appreciating this humorous gesture from him.

He led her back and handed her into the coach. The woman across smiled with a reverent nod as Demelza settled herself and adjusted her hat. Ross looked at Demelza out of the corner of his eye and tried not to sputter in suppressed laughter. 

The coach rolled on again. Without asking permission from the other passengers, Ross opened the window to allow in the fresh breeze. The cool air had felt good to Demelza when she had stepped out of the coach and now inside she hungered for more; she unbuttoned the top button on her coat and began to take off her gloves to expose just a few more inches of her skin. Ross reached over and covered her now bare hand with his. 

He felt it before he saw it--the ring on her left hand was not the flat wide band she had been wearing these past few weeks but the old round one he’d given her that June so long ago. It was delicate, smaller than the one from McNeil, but shined brightly and sat gracefully on her long white finger. Ross lifted her hand and put it to his lips, without a care for the other passengers in the coach. Let them see a man bestow love and affection on his wife. It might do them all some good.


	27. The Last Leg

“We’ve made excellent time, Demelza,” said Ross as he tied his stock and reached for his waistcoat. 

They were packing up to leave the inn at St. Austell where they had spent another restless night. Demelza bustled about the room, dressing Jeremy and gathering their things, which had multiplied considerably while they had stayed in London. They now had a trunk for their belongings and they expected the footman to be along any minute to collect it for the coach. 

“If the word I sent ahead wasn’t delayed, we’ll likely be met when we arrive later today which means we can go straight on to Nampara. If not, we’ll stay tonight in Truro,” he explained.

“I do hope we can go on and there’s no more inns,” Demelza said with a sigh.

“Even if it is the Red Lion?” he asked.

“That was your second home, Ross. I never did have occasion to stay there,” Demelza replied. “For Jeremy’s sake, I want this travelin’ to be over.” She smiled weakly at her son and tried to smooth a curl on his head that would not be tamed. Then she refolded his nightshirt for the third time before placing it in the trunk. She was anxious about what lay ahead but was trying to hide her nerves from Ross and Jeremy.

But Ross could sense Demelza’s worry and so to help her, he kept Jeremy entertained in the coach to Truro. Ever since they had reached Cornwall, Ross was able to explain what could be seen from the window and had narrated their journey to the boy. Ross knew the names of all the towns and even the smaller villages, could count down how many miles were between them and home, and estimated with great accuracy how long the last stages of their travel would take. Jeremy was in awe of his father’s knowledge and asked endless questions.

They rolled into Truro before noon that same day. Ross stepped out first then lifted Jeremy down. Next he gently took Demelza’s hand in his and helped her exit the coach. As she stepped into the dusty road he gave her gloved hand a tight squeeze. He was suddenly overcome with emotion that they had made it this far and he had no intention of letting go of her hand any time soon.

They entered the Red Lion where they intended to get their midday meal and make inquiries about the final leg of their journey. Many folks bowed to Ross and to Demelza as they walked into the crowded room and more than one offered Ross warm greetings.

“Cap’n Ross!”

“Tis Ross Poldark!”

“Cap’n Poldark is back from the war!”

“He’s Major Poldark now.”

“Beggin’ yur pardon, Major, sur!”

Demelza couldn’t help but smile at such a reception. Even in Truro, Ross was well known and respected. She almost didn’t feel the gentle touch on her sleeve but started when she heard an unfamiliar low voice speak behind her.

“Mistress Demelza?” 

She turned and at first did not recognize the tall young man who had addressed her. His coat was of a rough weave, the clothes of a farm worker perhaps, and he held his tattered hat in his hand reverently. Her gaze swept from his worn boots up to his dark eyes. It was then she gasped.

“Drake? Judas God! Could that be you, brother?” she cried and before he could answer she had her arms around him in a tight embrace.

“Tis I sister. But I’d hardly knew ye, yur so fine a lady now,” he said to her in awe.

“Ross, this be my brother, Drake Carne!” Demelza turned to Ross who did not seem as surprised as Demelza was at this reunion. Ross held out his hand to the Carne brother.

“Very glad to finally meet you in person, Drake. I see you did get the word I sent. Is your brother about?” Ross said shaking Drake’s hand.

“Tom is seein’ to the horses, just like you asked, Major Poldark” Drake responded.

“Tom?” Demelza asked and turned to her husband. “Ross?” She suddenly felt overwhelmed by the new developments and couldn’t understand Ross’s odd manner with her brother. What exactly was happening?

“I suggest you and your sister sit while she recovers from the shock,” Ross laughed. “I’ll take Jeremy and try to find Tom.”

And so Drake explained that he and their brother,Tom, had become the caretakers of Nampara while Ross remained away. They had walked over to see Demelza after their father died and finding her gone, had stayed in the district seeking work. Zacky Martin knew Ross had been looking for help and arranged everything with Ross through Pascoe.

“I do hope Major Poldark be satisfied with our work, sister,” Drake said. “We knew you’d be comin’ back someday and wanted to do our best fer ye.”

 

*****

The ride from Truro was exhilarating for Ross and Demelza both. It had been a cold, wet spring in Cornwall, but the weather that day was perfect; it was dry and the sun shone brightly while a fresh breeze kept them cool as they rode on. They were grateful to be outdoors again and marveled at how wonderful it felt to be back in a saddle. It seemed like another lifetime that they had left Demelza’s bays behind in Tyndrum. 

At last they saw it from a distance. Nampara. The old stone house that Joshua Poldark had built years ago, that a younger Ross had worked to save from its derelict state. The place Ross had brought Demelza to as his servant, that together they had made their home as husband and wife.

Demelza’s heart leapt in her chest. She longed to get down and run the last distance with her own legs. She knew then that she had no reservations about returning. Her face beamed in a smile and she turned to Jeremy, who was riding with Ross.

“Look, my love,” she said. “Tis Nampara. That’s our home. We be nearly there.” She was speaking to her son but also to Ross.

Moments later they were greeted in the yard by a weeping Prudie and a barking Garrick. The dog was getting old now but jumped like a puppy when he saw his mistress had returned home. Demelza seemed to forget she was wearing her fine riding costume and got down in the dust to hug him.

“Oh Mistress, oh Cap’n Ross,” Prudie wailed, overcome with emotion. “And here’s Master Jeremy!”

They finally managed to enter the house and were pleased to find a fire waiting for them in the parlor. But none of them wanted to sit, there was still too much exploring to do. Jeremy did not know what to make of the weeping servant but danced with joy at seeing Garrick. He was greeted with extensive licks on both of his cheeks from the dog, which made him squeal with delight.

“Is Garrick sizing him up to eat him?” Ross said wryly.

“Nay Ross,” she said laughing both at his joke and from the pure joy of being reunited with her dear companion. “Garrick do remember him. One of his flock has come home.”

“Flock? How would Garrick have done with your Highland sheep, I wonder?”

“Not that. I don’t think he’d have been much good as a shepherd. He’d be off chasin’ a rabbit and forget to mind the sheep! But he’s good with his family all the same.” 

She smiled contentedly and got down again on the floor to embrace her old dog again. He licked her face too and curled up in her lap then rose to lick her again. As she stroked his scruffy coat, she barked back at him and laughed. Ross looked at her tenderly and caught a glimpse of the young girl she used to be.


	28. A Letter for  Demelza

“Prudie?  What’s this?” Demelza asked looking at the sealed letter and black box that sat on the desk in her bedroom.

“Fer you from Cap’n Ross. Parcel and letter. Come righ’ after you did leave us…” Prudie answered, hands on hips.

“From Cap...from Ross ?” Demelza asked incredulously.

“Kept ‘em safe for thee. All these many month,” Prudie said proudly. Her beaming smile began to quiver and she promptly slipped back into sobs of joy. “Old Prudie knew ee’d be back.  ‘Ee do belong ‘ere, Maid. “

Prudie lifted her apron, the same dirty one she seemed to have worn for years on end, and wiped her tear streaked face. Then she turned with a joyous shout.

“Where’s me dear ole mite, Master Jeremy?  Prudie’s goin’ to eat ‘em up, she is!” She found the child in the hallway and grabbed him up her arms to carry off and smother with kisses.

Demelza felt herself fill with warmth at such a spirited, loving welcome from Prudie.  And she was heartened to see Jeremy respond with a storm of giggles to the old woman’s affections. He had seamlessly exchanged one doting servant for another.

She was alone now in the bedroom that she’d shared with Ross for so many years. The room had been cleaned and tidied for their arrival but everything was exactly as she had left it.  

She opened the box and let out a breath as she saw the jeweled brooch nestled in its case. She fingered it for a moment then sat at the desk and carefully unsealed the letter. She read quickly, at times struggling to read Ross’s inelegant scrawl.

_ My Dearest Wife Demelza, _

_ It is but hours until I leave English soil for what may be the last time.  And since it is a possibility that I may never return, there is much on mind and in my heart I must tell you.…. _

_ …..Demelza, my dear, my very dear, my fine, loyal, sweet Demelza, there is one other thing I want you to know. That is how sorry I am that I ever hurt you in the first place, in May, I mean.  You were so undeserving of any harm.  All these months I know how you will have felt. If you had gone off with McNeil, I should only have myself to blame. Does it upset you now to be told that I love you? Is it too late? _

_ And now to speak of the unspeakable, for you must hear me. I wish I could explain about Elizabeth but in a way I think you must understand. I loved her l before I ever met you.  It’s been a constant attachment my whole life, a perfect, idealised love.  What I felt for you has always been assessable, comparable, something human and part of ordinary life. The other, my feeling for Elizabeth, was not. What my night with Elizabeth taught me, and god knows there should have been other ways for me to come to my senses but my arrogance, my idiocy has been spectacular, after that night, because of it, I came to see that if you take an idealised relationship and bring it down to the level of an ordinary one, it isn't the ordinary one that suffers. My true, real and abiding love is not for her. It is for you. She will never come between us again… _

Demelza read his words, turning the creased pages over in her trembling hands. Her stomach lurched at parts--the blunt and honest descriptions of his time with Elizabeth, but then she felt a swell in her chest at the tender words that followed.  Tears fell from her eyes that she didn't bother to blink back, but she was careful not to allow them to fall on the letter and smudge the ink.  

A moan that would not be contained surged forth and she exhaled the breath she had been holding for nearly two years. In a flash it ran through her all again--the keenest pain, the deepest sorrow, the warmest love. She welcomed the feeling.

“Oh Ross, my Ross, ” she whispered.

She rested her head on her folded arms and wept.  The release she felt after finally unburdening her anguish was more satisfying than any she had experienced in Ross's bed.

She did not hear Ross enter the room but sensed when he was already standing behind her.  She turned to him, her eyes blurry, her body weak.

“Ross...I never received…” she gasped.

He saw what she was holding and read the distress on her face. Quickly he was at her side, his arms around her tight, in the loving embrace he’d been wanting to give her for weeks that she had only allowed him once before. She clung to him, pressing herself as close as she could, while she sobbed in his chest.

“Ross...” she wept.

“My letter? I sent it to you here before I got yours from Pascoe. I had assumed all this time you had read mine and cared not for its contents,” he said quietly.  A lump was forming in his own throat.

With one hand he tenderly stroked her back, the other smoothed over her soft head. When she looked up at him, he saw the sadness, the hurt in her eyes, and also the burning love that unmistakably had returned.  

“Our notes must have crossed in the post,“ she whispered, then exhaled aloud. She was taking in the enormity of this mishap, recognizing the misunderstanding, the suffering that had occurred as a result.

Ross needed to kiss her desperately and raised her face to his. She grazed his lips with hers but their rhythm was off in the urgency of the moment. Frenzied, she groaned and gasped, then pulled his head towards hers and found her mark.  

She’d kissed him countless times since they first shared that bed in Abington but this was different for them both. It was the reuniting of hearts. They were staring down -- and accepting-- the depths of their love.

He put his mouth to hers, open, greedy and she to his, driven by an unbearable hunger.  She could never get enough of him, his strong lips, the taste and smell of him so close.

This emotion, once believed lost but now, in an instant, found, was like a sudden surge from the sea overtaking them; they clumsily lost their balance and almost upset the chair on which she was still perched. He raised her to her feet and led her to the bed where they collapsed wrapped in each other’s arms, only occasionally letting go to wipe away each other’s tears.

“Oh, Ross, will you not hold me?"

"Yes,” he said, doing it.

"Please hold me and never let me go."

"Nor shall I, if you give me the chance."

"Not till we die. Ross, I do not want to live without you."

They had never been closer. Cheek against cheek, lashes on cheeks, noses rubbing against lips, their caresses were akin to the nuzzling lost animals do when reunited with one of their own herd.

They said nothing more but lay together, holding each other tight in the unbreakable bonds of love and tenderness.

No one in the household dared disturb them.


	29. And There's Naught Lost Beyond Recall Which Cannot Be Found If Sought

After dinner Ross and Demelza walked to the cliffs overlooking the sea. Demelza had gathered flowers along their walk--Milkwort, Thrift, Kidney Vetch. Not much was to be found in such a raw wet April but whatever fought its way through the damp cold ground she spotted and gingerly plucked. When they came to the edge they looked out together at the pink sky, the glowing sun dissolving into the silver mist that rose from the sea. She crouched to get closer to the ground then laid her flowers down as though an offering. She stayed like that for sometime before she reached up to take Ross’s outstretched hand.

“You look like a soul at church,” he mused.

“Pr'haps I am,” she said. He could hear contentment, peace in her voice.

It occurred to him that with the exception of their stay in London, he had spent almost every waking moment in her presence since they left Achindall, scarcely apart for more than an hour. Never had they kept such close company before and he doubted they would again, as the demands of mines and households would come between them soon enough. He wrapped his arm around her and stood silently, cherishing the moment.

Later that night Ross and Demelza stayed up in their bed long after the rest of the household was asleep. They were both overcome with exhaustion but were hesitant to leave each other’s arms. 

They talked in low, hushed voices of nothing particular. Demelza made a list of people she should visit as soon as possible and Ross thought they should consider expanding the library at Nampara. Then he remembered something he had wanted to ask her.

“Demelza,” Ross asked her softly. “When you were ill on the last coach before we got to St. Austell, I was worried you might be...are you with child?’

“No, Ross. I am not. Are you relieved?”

“No, I’m not relieved.” Instinctively he put his hand on her belly, recalling the times in years past when it had grown round with a child. Julia, then Jeremy. His heart swelled with the love he had for her and for them. He looked into her eyes. “Are you disappointed, my love?”

“No. Not exactly. I’d have wanted our child to be made in ...steadier times,” she answered thoughtfully.

“To be conceived in love,” he added. “Well, now she can be.” 

“She?” Demelza laughed. 

“Yes, I wish her to be girl. But not like you. One of you is more than enough.” 

He once again pressed his lips to her neck and began to move them down her body over her night rail. When he reached her breasts, he lingered, stroking with inspired hands.

“Yes, an’ conceived in wedlock,” she teased.

“Does that matter to you?” he looked up at her surprised. “And are we now…?”

“Yes, Ross,” she said softly. She nestled her head against his chest while he wrapped his strong, loving arms around her and held her close.

“Good night, my love,” he said softly.

“Good night, my love,” she whispered.

And only then did they finally close their eyes.


	30. Epilogue: A Voice from the Past

London  
February 1, 1811

Ross Poldark had expected to find the reception room at the Pulteney Hotel insufferably crowded and unthinkably hot, and was not disappointed. After an hour of idle talk he was growing restless and there wasn’t canary nor brandy enough that would allow him to find his current company entertaining. He found his mind wandering to his upcoming travel plans; he’d hoped to be able to finally return home within the next few days after his recent mission to Portugal. As he had explained earlier to an acquaintance, it wasn’t his Cornish acres he was anxious to return to but his Cornish wife.

Reluctantly and with considerable discomfort, Ross Poldark moved through the room. Just then a tall, fair girl caught his eye. She was attractive and fashionable; her dress was low across the bust, tight above the elbows. Her grey eyes lowered as she spoke to a young man who stood beside her. She looked familiar to Ross but it couldn't be…

Ross blinked then looked again. Without hesitation he slid through the groups of tittering guests and approached the young lady.

“Miss Poldark,” he said to her. She turned and her face grew radiant at once.

“Papa!” she exclaimed with great warmth and affection. “Oh, we didn't know you were home! How lovely, oh Papa!” she beamed.

“Is your mother here in London too?” Ross asked her, holding her by both elbows. He had resisted the urge to crush her in his arms and had instead planted several kisses on her pretty face. He was overjoyed to see his daughter and the thought that his beloved wife might also be present caused his heart to skip a beat.

They began to rapidly ask and answer each other's questions. Clowance was here in London with Caroline and Dwight Enys and their daughters. No, Demelza and the rest of the Poldark family were at home at Nampara. Yes, they could leave at once to go home together. She was just about to introduce him to Lord Edward Fitzmaurice beside her when another man approached them. 

At first Ross thought he was coming to greet his daughter but saw that he was in fact coming to talk to him. A tall man, in his military dress uniform he cut an impressive figure, but seemed to be taking himself too seriously, whomever he was. A flicker of familiarity followed by a vague, unnamed feeling of disgust washed over Ross.

“Major Poldark?” the man asked. “Perhaps you do not recall me. You seem not to have changed. But it was some years ago when we last met.”

Ross looked at the man and immediately registered who he was. It had been in an old inn at Banbury that Ross had last spoken to this man. He did not relish the memory. He held Clowance’s gloved hand firmly in his but did not introduce her.

“Of course it’s _Colonel_ Copeland, now,” the man said to no one in particular.

“Well, such a coincidence to make your acquaintance again after all these years, Colonel. Now it you will please excuse me, my daughter and I...” Ross began to make their exit.

“Yes, it was under different circumstances then, wasn’t it?” Copeland said, looking around the lavish reception room, obviously pleased to be mixing in such company. “You know it really was a most curious ending to _that_ story, Major Poldark. Would you care to hear it?” He seemed oblivious to Ross’s discomfort.

“In truth, sir, I care not…” Ross began. He was holding Clowance’s hand even tighter now and she looked up at him first with curiosity, then with alarm. She was as perceptive as her mother and had grown skilled at reading her father’s moods.

“T’was quite remarkable, really.” Colonel Copeland ignored Ross’s professed disinterest and plunged ahead. 

“Our Mistress McNeill returned to her home in Achindall just a few months after she was reported missing. It seems she had been traveling and was most vexed that such a fuss had been made over the whole misunderstanding. But you see her servant girl, whom she had informed of her travel plans, had left and took up with that Macpherson in her mistress’s absence,” he explained. 

Ross stared at Copeland in amazement, hoping his face did not betray the shock he felt at hearing this news. He looked down at his feet to avoid the Colonel’s gaze.

“Kind woman, that Mistress McNeil. She even brought the maid’s old father into her home to do odd jobs after his daughter left him. He was rather infirm and died soon after, I believe.”

“She returned? ...So who was it then who reported McNeill’s widow missing? I assumed it had been the servant girl?” Ross asked. He knew it was probably wisest to end this conversation quickly but his need for answers got the better of him.

“No, no, it was Macpherson’s brother,” Copeland answered, twisting his moustache as he spoke.

“And Macpherson?” Ross tried to sound casual, disinterested.

“Macpherson was never heard from again. He and the pretty little maid are probably set up in America by now. Much of that valley has emptied you know, so it wasn't surprising to find another young man gone. No one was really so worried about a young rogue like that, but Mistress McNeil being gone did cause concern, considering her family’s standing. She’s the only one left of those McNeils now, I’m told,” Copeland replied.

“And she, McNeil’s widow, prospers?” Ross asked hesitantly.

“Yes, last I heard from our Scottish comrades she was there still. Living alone, bought up some adjacent land and is a formidable presence in the valley. It’s sheep now that’s the big business, you know.” 

“What about the boy?” It was a risk to ask but Ross had to know if there were loose ends.

“Hmm...I don't recall there being a boy. Was there? Was the poor little thing taken to the Lord along with Captain McNeil in the influenza? So many of the young were, you know,” Copeland said dismissively.

Ross couldn't believe his ears. Had Mary really assumed Demelza’s place and gone on living her life as the mistress of the house, owner of the McNeil family lands? And could Demelza have kept this from him all these years? For surely Demelza was behind it and must have left instructions with Mary about how to carry off this scheme. 

But then Ross saw at once why she hadn’t told him and could just imagine how that conversation would go. Demelza would say that she never told him because he’d only try to talk her out of it--which he would have. He’d have said it was too much of a risk, and she’d have explained that she felt an obligation to this young girl who had saved her from her loneliness. Ross suspected Demelza would also have hated to see all that prosperity and comfort go to waste.

He was not pleased to learn that all this time one more person in the world had known their secret, but if Demelza trusted Mary, Ross would too. Did he not swear to himself years ago to better trust Demelza’s judgement? And most likely Mary didn't know what actually happened to Macpherson, for Ross suspected that was something Demelza would never have put in writing nor admitted aloud. Macpherson’s death, along with a few other significant events that happened in their past, was something that was never spoken of between them.

Ross was speechless, ruminating on such an extraordinary tale, when Copeland's attention was suddenly drawn elsewhere. He bowed politely before moving away from Ross and his daughter.

“Papa?” Clowance said softly. “What was that about? You look far away.” This time it was she who squeezed his hand tightly.

He moved her small hand to his lips and gave it a tender kiss. Then, his eyes shining with love, he looked at her bright face, so full of youth, beauty, and promise.

_She was made in steadier times, made in love._

“Just old business. No, my dear, I am right here with you. And so I shall always remain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am forever thankful for the gifts Winston Graham gave us that allows our Poldark fiction to flourish. This story borrows heavily, with bits of key passages quoted at length, from The Angry Tide. But you may also recognize bits from Warleggan, The Four Swans, and even Stranger from the Sea. And of course also woven in is some key dialogue from Debbie Horsfield’s television adaption, seasons 2 & 3\. Thanks so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> These characters, as much as I do love them, do not belong to me but to Winston Graham & Debbie Horsfield.


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